#despite the only light source being dark purple and flickering

[maranull]

I'm writing a dimly lit scene and I'm stealing the "the light comes from the same place as the music" that people say about movies

otherwise the descriptions would suck

[sweetiesshortstories]

Imagine if the lights you saw dancing in the sky weren’t satellites, or a trick of reflections. What if those lights saw you watching in awe, and came back night after night just to see you? And if those lights that some called UFO’s, spaceships, alien visitors, did happen to hold beings, and one of those beings wanted to see you, would you want to see them back?

2600 word count

˜”°•.˜”°• If Stars Could Love •°”˜.•°”˜

I don’t know when they started, and I can’t recall when I first saw them. The lights in the sky. They started off far away over the mountains, and I would sit outside on the deck in the darkness just to watch. I didn’t want to record them, or upload them online, I didn’t want anyone to know; I wanted them to remain mine. A moment in the day that felt like peace. While my roommate slept, and while the world held no expectations for me, I could sit and watch a dance of stars.

I almost missed them after covering someone else’s shift. I was exhausted when I got home. My roommate and her boyfriend were kind enough to save me some of their dinner and after I ate, I fell asleep. Instantly.

When I awoke, I grabbed my phone and hissed a "shit". It was 2:37a. With sleep still in my eyes I fumbled from my bed, fighting with my blankets as they held on tightly. Once I pulled the sliding glass door open and stepped into the cold night, I saw the sky above the mountains, empty. My heart sank and it filled my stomach with pain. I turned to go back inside when over my shoulder a flicker caught my attention.

A singular light. Closer than I had ever seen. It glowed a faint pink, or purple. It swirled between hues and I was hypnotized.

My body felt electrified, my skin prickled, my heart fluttered, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My body was so warm despite the time of year and my lack of heavy clothing and shoes, the light filled me. The response from my body was foreign, and confusing. I should have been scared, that would’ve been normal.

But I was…enamored.

Full of excitement and want. Like an energy had invaded me and made a home deep inside to gain control. My body was humming with hunger, responding to touches I couldn't see the source of. My breasts felt heavier, my nipples ached, and I was painfully aware of the pulsing between my legs. The light grew brighter, and brighter, swallowing the world around me until it was only me lost in the brightness. The outline of the trees, the mountain line, the stars, all gone. The prickling on my skin had turned into a steady buzz emanating from my body, and my breathing quickened, my knees began to tremble until something inside of me erupted. A sound escaped my throat, and everything faded.

When I awoke, hours had passed. The sun was high in the sky and my roommate, Taylor was crouched over me with her forehead wrinkled in concern.

“What the hell happened? Are you ok?” She leaned back to give me room as I sat myself up, squinting my eyes against the morning light. Sweat peppered my forehead from the sun.

“I—I fell asleep after I ate, I guess.” I wiped my hand over my forehead and pushed my hair back before taking a deep breath and letting my shoulders fall.

I noticed her boyfriend on the deck, his brows also stitched in concern.

“Richard! What did you put in the spaghetti last night?” Taylor demanded as she stood and crossed her arms.

“Whoa!” He lifted his palms. “I put normal spaghetti shit in it. You think I’d try to poison us? Really?”

“Hey,” I pulled myself to my knees and gripped the wooden railing. “Guys I’m fine. Really! I fell asleep after working a double.”

“Did you remember to check her allergy list? We have to be careful when we share what we make with her.” Taylor pushed. Richie nodded and bent at the waist to help me stand. Taylor quickly rushed to my other side, and I couldn’t help but to laugh at them.

Once standing upright i flapped my hands at them.

“Seriously! I’m fine, dinner was so delicious it put me in a food coma. Work just…” I wrinkled my nose and walked inside the air conditioned home; Taylor and Richie followed, shutting the door behind them.

I made a fresh pot of coffee while we hung out in the kitchen and Taylor went over my allergies, in detail, again, to poor Richie.

He looked over at me as I pulled mugs from the cabinet, and I mouthed an apology. He smiled warmly and fixed his eyes, full of love and adoration, on Taylor. I filled our mugs.

My chest felt tight witnessing their love. As I poured coffee, my mind drifted off to my early morning and the angelic light.

Could it have been the same lights I had watched for weeks? Or was I just crazy? Losing my grip on reality. I glanced over at Taylor and Richie and observed how in sync they were with one another. A proposal would be coming soon. And while I was happy for them, I couldn’t help but to be sad for me.

How would I afford this place alone? Would I still see Taylor? Was I imagining an orgasmic extraterrestrial light because I masturbated too much, and my closest friend was happily monogamous? If I did imagine it, how did it feel so real?

Even standing in the kitchen clasping my hot mug of coffee, I could feel it. The heat and the electricity that had filled my essence. How could it be fake?

I didn't gain any clarity in the following days.

That night after I showered, I crawled under my thick comforter, promising myself I would dress and go outside. I wouldn't miss the lights, my lights. But at some point, I drifted off into a sleep and when I woke, I couldn't move.

I was stuck in a sleep paralysis, barely able to control my eyes. I tried to focus on the pictures on the walls, my dresser, but my lids were so heavy. In the corner I saw a shadow, a tall form, the darkness stretched to the ceiling. I wanted to panic. I felt it begin in my chest, but it faded almost immediately, and I felt the warm electricity from the night before.

The very same.

Even though it was only the second time I had felt it, it was already so familiar. My mind quieted and I immediately gave in. I was floating. I was alive. Every strand of hair on my head felt charged, I could feel touches swirling through the rivets of my fingerprints. I felt sensations on places I had never imagined. And just when I hit a stage of immense ecstasy, they were gone.

Night after night the shadow came to me, and I was unable to go to it.

Until I decided I had enough. I would catch this shadow. The shadow that came from the light.

I didn't know where to begin, but I did know how to be sneaky. That night, I stuffed clothes under my comforter and rearranged my pillows, then I hid myself in the closet. But...I woke up in my bed the next morning. I did it again, this time drinking coffee and energy drinks. Still, I ended up. In. My. Bed. I had about given up on catching the shadow, when another idea intruded into my mind. A dangerous idea. But I had to know for myself, this wasn't fake. That it was all real and I wasn't imagining a connection.

It was Friday and I had managed to get out of work on time, without being guilted into staying later. Taylor stayed at Richie's, and I had our quaint 2-bedroom home myself. I was nervous, I had been since I had come up with the idea. I was playing with fire thinking I could predict an unknown beings' reactions and response. But that didn't stop me.

I waited until 2:30a.

Living in the mountains not only meant a lack of neighbors but also a lack of light. When there was a new moon there was no chance of seeing anything at all. And on the deck, that's what I was greeted with. An intense, pitch, blackness. Slowly, the stars in the sky began to show as my eyes adjusted to the dark, and eagerly I waited, and stared.

A star glinted, catching my attention. It glimmered, and grew, and grew, bigger, brighter. Colors bgan to appear within the star, swirling. My breath caught and my heart leapt into my throat. It was the light, the same light. I couldn't waste the moment. I wanted to bask in the warmth, the peace, the bliss, but it seemed like this light could never get away from me fast enough. Though it liked me enough to keep coming back...

I swallowed and placed my hand on the wall that the railing was connected to, and quickly I set one foot up and pushed myself a top. It wasn't hard to balance on the railing, even as the light grew brighter, blinding me. My heart thudded, painfully. My ribs were thrumming, and my body was tense with trepidation. I heard a sound, deep, like a machine. It groaned out to me, almost as if it were upset. I didn't care.

I moved my hand from the wall and let both of my arms hang at my sides. A cool wind blew through my hair, and I lifted my face to the light.

"You'll have to catch me if you don't want me to die." And I stepped off. Without hesitation, before I could lose my nerve.

It was stupid. Dumb. Not at all a thought-out plan. I couldn't see the ground through the blinding light, but I knew the impact was coming and even in that moment I didn't regret it. Because I would have done anything for an answer.

I felt the same warmth I had grown accustomed to and become addicted to. It wasn't feathering inside of me, it was solid on the surface. I was blinded by a stark white light, an almost painful brightness that burned my eyes and brought forth tears. For the first time I could touch something solid in the light and I moved my hands desperately searching for a place to hold on. To keep whatever, whoever it was, with me until I opened my eyes. But it was as if I was hugging a wall of stone! There were no curves or edges I could grab, wrap around.

"Lift thy gaze to me." A voice spoke. A voice as deep as thunder but as soft as music. The light was still blinding me, I squinted and covered my eyes when gradually the light softened.

My mind wanted my heart to race but it held calm. Swallowing, I moved my hands from my face and looked down at my legs and the surface I sat on. I blinked to clear my vision, because I had to be mistaken.

"Your boldness is no more?"

I looked around and saw a picturesque landscape, with lush grass, flowers in colors I had never seen, and a sky that held the stars while cradling the sun. And looking at me, were eyes that were so green they could've been yellow, and they were framed by thick, ink black lashes. Only, I sat in their hand, no bigger than a hamster. Their face was glowing in a way I could hardly process. I had never seen anything so beautiful and terrifying.

I wanted to speak, anything, but my body was frozen.

"You dare me to unveil my form yet now find yourself speechless."

I was. So speechless. Dumbfoundedly speechless and I was hating myself more and more every second because of it.

"Wh--Who are you?" I managed to fumble. They rose a brow.

"You can call to me as Dio." His words rippled through me, and I felt a haze blanketing me. I felt a change underneath me and when I looked, I was taking up more space in his hand. I touched my abdomen and trailed down to my legs, as if it would tell me something.

"Am I growing?"

"Acclimating. You gave me little time to respond so your perception had no time to adjust." He could have been scolding me but all I heard was music. Something soft, sweet, it was magical.

His hand went from cradling me, to cupping me, as I grew. I felt like Alice after she fell down the rabbit hole. But he said it was only my perception...?

Even with my perception righted I was still dwarfed in this world, surrounded by trees the size of mountains and flowers larger than my hands. Dio towered before me, still glowing like an apparition.

"What are you doing to me?" I didn't know how else to phrase it, I just wanted an answer. I wanted every answer.

"I touch you not." He lifted his hands and bells sounded, it was clinking of chains and charms. He was elaborately clothed in white, jewels hung over a bare chest, black hair entwined in gold cascaded over his shoulders. My hand rested on my stomach where flutters began.

"This feeling. I'm so calm." My voice was a whisper and my legs felt weak. The tension in my shoulders and neck evaporated and I felt loose.

"You could never sleep, I merely assisted." His eyes looked over me, with a curiosity cloaked in care.

"How? What did you do that made me fall asleep? That made me..." I stopped myself, unable to say it aloud.

"I read poetry."

"Poe-" I tilted my head as a puzzle began to piece together. "Poetry, ecstasy...this haze." I lifted my hand and watched it blur with motion. "Dionysus? The god of wine, poetry, ecstasy and pleasure."

"Those are my people, yes!" He sounded amused but also pleased with me. I was even more enamored, pulled under his spell. "At one time we were known as pleasure Gods, that was many rotations ago for your realm."

It was so much information, more than I knew what to do with. People? That were pleasure gods? I blindly felt behind me for support, knowing my body was losing balance. I felt my legs give and simultaneously felt an arm across my lower back. I gasped as my chest came into contact with a sturdy form and my cheeks rested against the cold metal of his jewelry.

"Give yourself time to adjust, Human. This isn't your realm." He spoke into my hair and his breath was warm, my body molded to his, relaxed and unafraid.

"I didn't hear your poetry. I never heard anything." I spoke against him, rambled more like it. I wasn't even sure I was making any sense. He kept his arm at my lower back and with his other I felt him stroke my hair from crown all the way down my back.

"Sound doesn't travel through the portals, but lights do. I sent you lights with my poems."

My eyes were growing heavy, but I didn't want them to. I didn't want to leave. I knew if I closed my eyes, I wouldn't see him when I opened them again. I grabbed onto him, I clung at his shoulders and pushed myself into him.

"Don't send me back. Not yet." I wrapped my arms around him and brushed my lips against his neck as I plead. "How will I call for you again? How will you hear me? I can't leave yet, not yet." I was so tired, losing the world around me, losing my grip on him.

"Call to the stars Astraeus, and I will hear you in every sphere."

I was slipping, his voice was fading. I cupped his face and pressed my lips to his, desperate to leave with the feel of him. To know more than what I felt from the lights.

I don't know if he kissed me back.

But when I woke in my room, to my white walls and floral curtains, his voice echoed in my mind like a whisper:

Human women are indeed the universes sweetest verboten.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ To Be Continued… ♥

[the-masked-ram]

You Look Like Home- Chapter Two

CW: Not SFW, Dark Content, Yandere themes, Monster fucking, Demon fucking, Demogorgon!chisaki, Dub-con, Later Consensual, Fem Reader, Tail fucking, Rimming (reader recieving), Slow Burn, Plot heavy, Angel/Demon relationship, Forbidden love, War, Breeding Kink, Anal, Vaginal Penetration, Oral, Choking, Corruption, Age Difference (kinda?), Alternate Universe, Loss of virginity ---

Chapter Two: Shackles It had started the last few weeks. There was an agonizing crackling in your chest every time you felt strong emotions whip through you. It had been a recent development; your runic bindings were glowing more often, though the power they exuded seemed to have weakened. You felt like you were being ripped apart sometimes until the rings around your limbs stuttered to life, and you could finally breathe again. You had no real idea what was going on, you had no idea how to stop it either, and no one was telling you. Your mind reeled, trying to figure out answers, research in the library came up with nil, and you barely knew anything about anything on your own. You asked your mother, your father, the few other angels you could easily get into contact with, but honestly there seemed to only be one person willing to tell an iota of blunt truth in this fucked up world. Yet, you weren’t sure how you’d talk to him anytime soon. Despite the Overhauler straddling a line of godliness and demon lineage he still was considered a demon, and you were an angel. You were highly revered, someone coveted as the next generation of the cherubs and yet… you looked at the shimmering mirror just across from you hanging on the starkly white wall. It reflected your confusion; would he even tell you why you were struggling? Why wouldn’t the others? How could someone supposedly so powerful, be controlled by their own feelings? You touched your cheek, watching the doppelganger in the glass do the same. It was a hypnotizing vision, something that gave you some sort of comfort. How could you fix something if you didn’t even know what was happening? The light of your wings shuddered, and you decided in that moment you’d find a way to speak with Chisaki. The challenge would be doing it without anyone else finding out. ---- The Abyss had been strangely calm lately. A silence, only broken by the occasional scream of pain, had settled over the swirling mass of purple mist and burning rocks. It set Kai on edge, he rarely saw it this quiet. Almost as if it’s silence was akin to a predator walking a forest, like it was something wrong treading where it didn’t belong. As he crouched on the Barrier that separated the Abyssal Plains from the Netherworld, his tail whipped behind him, the only sign of his agitation. He felt unsettled, the ones called his charges were dwindling it seemed. But their power was still bright in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t find the reason behind the changes and he wondered if he would need to slip into a more proactive role soon. Chisaki was the only one who could safely wander the filth of the Abyss without being attacked by the Exiled, still the dimension itself drained him. The emptiness that stretched out before him was meant to suck all who entered of their energy, slowly and painfully. With no source of sustenance near, all who lingered eventually wasted away but not without spending decades in the grip of madness. So, Kai was always careful to be prepared before leaping into the swirling mists below. He needed to eat, to rest, and to probably let an underling or two know where he was wandering off to in case he got lost for a year or more. He frowned as he straightened, and slowly made his way back along the top of the Barrier, back to the Accursed Realms. As soon as his feet passed the threshold of the Netherworld, he felt the tingling in his runes, the usually black patterned tattoos changed to a flickering gold. Someone was praying to him. He tilted his horned head, a curious smile stretching across his masked face. No one prayed to the Demogorgon, so who would be that audacious to call him from the belly of the underworld. Eager to see the creature stupid enough to bother him, he let the prayers pull at him and followed their power. Whoever was demanding his attention was strong, if he had been a lesser demon, they probably wouldn’t have even needed his consent to drag him to their feet. Imagine his surprise when within seconds he stood in front of you. The room you called him to a mix of stark white and jumbled blue pastels. He guessed it was supposed to be reminiscent of the earthly sky at its most hopeful. When it was nothing but puffy white and robin egg blue. He looked down at you with that tilt to his head and a lift of his brow. A chuckle rumbling up his throat. “Well, well, looks like a certain cherub wants to get in trouble,” he couldn’t stop his eyes from crinkling with his ever-growing smile. ---- You couldn’t believe it worked, not even as you felt his answer to your prayers tremor though the lines your magic had cast. You could still barely believe your eyes as the demon towered over you, his stone-grey tail curling lazily around his legs, his eyes crinkling in a smile hidden behind the beaked mask perched on his face. He was an amazing sight. He fingers shifted the leather gloves on his hands to a tighter fit, fussing with the cuff of his dress shirt for a moment as he looked around the library you both stood in. Your wings shimmered in delight, the crackling coming to life painfully in your chest and making you gasp until the bindings around your limbs glowed to life. He looked down at the containment circle you’d carefully drawn to hold him still, “Did you summon me into the Ethereal Realms, little lamb?” He clicked his tongue in reprimand. “Technically,” you replied. “But that circle will keep you con—” Yet, he stepped out of the ring before you even finished your sentence. A small spark of white chased after him, but the magic dissipated as soon as he left the crushed crystals. “Contained?” he finished for you. “Not likely. You are centuries too young to be able to contain something as old as me.” You felt your breath catch in your chest, anxiety ramping up and the painful jolts shocked you so bad your wings winked out of sight while you collapsed onto a knee. When you looked up Chisaki was observing you with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps not as far away as I originally thought,” he murmured, in mild surprise. “Why did you call me?” “You said you’d tell me who I was when the time is right, that first time we met, remember?” you said, words spilling out in an eager rush as you moved to stand, clutching at your ribs. “Well I’m deciding now is the right time.” Chisaki’s brow quirked, “Are you now? And what has brought you to this conclusion?” You hunched over again, hissing out a breath while you fought back tears, “Something’s happening, and no one will explain though I’m pretty sure at least the Archangel Council know what’s going on. My mother seems to as well.” “And what makes you think I know?” Kai asked, his eyes narrowed. “Because you’re one of the oldest beings alive. Because you’ve probably seen this before,” you then met his golden gaze dead on. “And because the way you look more curious than surprised when I started going into spasms.” The tilt to his head was back and his slitted stare turned a shade darker as it flicked over your crumpled body. You met his watchful eyes head on, even as you muscles jerked under your skin and pain rocketed through your spine and ribs with each shallow breath. The runes around your wrists stuttered as they tried to keep up with your shifting magic. “Hm, you are a smart one,” he stated, slowly circling you. “I wouldn’t say I’ve seen this before, you are one of the rarest creatures in your own right. But I’ve seen similar happenings. Though often less violent and usually the angel is much older.” You knew you should feel wary, should be on the defensive, but you could barely stay standing, let alone try to keep Chisaki in your sights. You sighed, body quivering as the agony receded. “Can we stop talking in vague allusions? I would really like to know what’s going on, and if there is anyway to stop this pain,” you gasped, trying to stop the tremors from growing again. “Ah,” he was back in front of you and for once, he looked hesitant. “Yes, there is. But… it’s not really my place. Though I suppose I can make it better for now while I try to talk to Council. I think it’s time that they address this, lest you be torn apart. And it would be a shame to lose such a pivotal being.” He looked at you thoughtfully, a shadow in his eyes, his words held a weight that spoke of a hidden agenda. But you were too tired, brain too foggy, to be able to try and pick it apart. You just nodded eagerly, desperate for your internal organs and bones to stop aching. “Alright,” he said with a sigh, as if this was one of the worst annoyances he had been tasked with in his last century. He slipped one of his leather gloves off and pressed the warmth of his naked fingers against your collar bone. You blinked up at him, waiting and his eyes crinkled but it was different than before, damn that mask and hiding so much of his face. Suddenly a surge of power rushed through your aura, into your body, and swirled in your veins. You squeaked, breath coming out in sharp pants as you felt your very molecules split apart in areas and then shove back together in others and knit to form something new. You didn’t understand, it didn’t hurt but it wasn’t comfortable, and you squirmed, frantic to get away from the foreign sensation. A strong arm curled around your waist and held you in place, “Stay still, just give in, little lamb. It will be over soon.” You fisted your hands in his shirt blindly, realizing black spots were overtaking your vision, realizing you couldn’t hear well. Then all there was, was the black and you were tipping forward into unconsciousness. Into a solid chest that smelled like lemon, fresh linen, and the sharpness of rosemary. “Sleep, you’ll feel better when you wake up,” his voice was soft but strong, and you welcomed the command like there was no other choice. ---- Chisaki sneered down at your prone form, his lip curling in disgust at the way you clutched at him. He knew he needed your power, he knew he needed your strength, and it wasn’t a bad thing that you kept him entertained. But the touching thing… he sighed. He scooped you into his arms and placed you back onto the bed decorated with pale purple and white swirls. You smelled like the crisp scent of snow falling on the first night of winter, a sharp scent he placed as mint, and something warm that mellowed both out, the sugary sweetness of peaches. He felt the itch of stony scales along his face when his fingers once against brushed your skin, they must have first appeared when he used his powers. They’d grown down to his cheekbones. He sighed, shuddering at the thought of your filthy skin, focusing instead on the purity of your soul and letting the warm radiance it pushed out pull his scales back into his body. He needed you, he reminded himself again. He would never reach his goal or complete his promise without you. You were crucial and he’d been waiting for you for centuries. Chisaki looked down at you, not in revulsion this time, instead his gaze was calculating. Instead he looked at you like you were the key to everything. In the beginning he had just wanted to protect, in the beginning you were a source of amusement, he never could has imagined why he felt those things. How much was fate on his side? Was something, somewhere hoping for the Overhauler to succeed?

[rowanzhang]

Games Art and Design “light and shadow” Blog1: Color Emotion

In visual art, light and color are important means of conveying emotions. Take the tragic scene of "The Princess Crying in War" as an example. Through different lighting and color processing, complex emotions such as helplessness, sadness, anger and desire can be deeply expressed. The following is a scenario that uses light, tone, color contrast and other techniques to show this deep emotional level.

1. Main light source: cold-toned moonlight

The scenes in war usually have a ruthless coldness, and the crying princess needs a bleak and desperate atmosphere. Moonlight can be used as the main light source. This cold blue light can not only reflect the princess's face, but also add a desolate and sad feeling to the whole scene. The cold blue tone conveys a sense of alienation and loneliness, symbolizing the desolation and loss after the war. This moonlight shining on the princess's face can make her face look pale and haggard, echoing her inner grief.

2. Auxiliary light source: weak firelight or candlelight

In the ruins after the war, there are often sporadic firelights, symbolizing the remaining hope and life. In this scene, the weak firelight can be used as an auxiliary light source to illuminate one side of the princess's face. This warm orange light contrasts with the cold moonlight, adding a touch of human warmth to her, so that she is not completely submerged in the cold environment. This weak light also symbolizes her desire and recollection for peace, which still flickers in her heart despite being almost swallowed by the cruelty of war.

3. Background light: heavy smoke and shadows

Smoke and shadows can be used as the main elements of background light. They do not require clear lighting, but create an atmosphere of desolation and despair through heavy gray, dark purple and other gloomy tones. The thick smoke left by the war diffuses in the distant sky, shrouding the entire scene in gray, allowing the viewer to feel the depressing atmosphere. This way of handling light makes people feel that the whole world is collapsing, and the princess's grief is not isolated, but integrated with the broken feeling of the entire environment.

4. Color contrast: cold and warm contrast

In terms of light color, cold and warm contrast is an important way to express emotions. The cold moonlight and the warm colors of the firelight form a clear contrast. This cold and warm contrast not only makes the picture more layered, but also highlights the contradiction of emotions: the cruel war ruthlessly destroys everything, but the princess's heart still retains the warmth of humanity. The cold color makes the environment appear empty and ruthless, while the weak warm light symbolizes her weakness and helplessness, highlighting her inner struggle and inescapable pain.

5. High-contrast lighting: highlighting grief

In order to further highlight the princess's grief, high-contrast lighting can be used to hide half of her face in the shadow. The purpose of this is to create a strong contrast of light and shadow effects to make her grief more prominent. The shadow part can symbolize her deep despair, while the moonlit part shows the tears in her eyes, which appear crystal clear under the cold blue light, reminding people that her sorrow is pure and cannot be concealed.

6. Use of local colors: symbolizing the glimmer of hope

In order to better express the emotional level, a faint warm tone can be used in a corner of the scene, such as a flower that has not yet burned out or a torn piece of clothing. This warm tone symbolizes her nostalgia for the past life and her longing for peace and beauty. This small part of color can bring a touch of warmth to the cold picture, creating a feeling of "although hope is slim, it is not completely extinguished".

7. Arrangement of background and foreground color levels

The color of the distant view in the scene can be blurred and gray, and the near view can be slightly brighter to highlight the main body of the princess. The gray tone of the distant view and the cold blue tone of the near view form a visual layering, allowing the audience to focus on the princess. The gray and blurry distant view, like the ashes after the war, contrasts with the remaining brightness around her, making the princess's loneliness more obvious.

8. Combination of color atmosphere and emotion

Through the combination of blue main light and warm auxiliary light, the color atmosphere of this scene becomes extremely heavy, with a deep sense of tragedy. The cold blue light symbolizes the ruthless external environment - the cruelty of war; while the warm light brings the viewer into the heart of the princess, making her weakness, helplessness and desire more prominent. Through the contrast of cold and warm colors, the audience can more directly feel the psychological trauma brought by the war and the kind of tragic emotion that cannot be escaped.

Summary

The scene of "Crying Princess in War" can convey deep emotions to the audience through the clever use of light and color. The contrast between the cold blue moonlight and the warm orange light symbolizes the ruthless environment and the weak heart, showing the princess's helplessness, pain and attachment to beauty. The shadows and smoke in the background add a sense of fragmentation to the entire picture, making people feel more strongly the destruction brought by war.

[honeymelonpm]

-Innocence-

Part 6:

Characters: Arthur Harrow x Reader

Summary: Reader wakes up to find Arthur has left her alone, something else is present in her room.

Warning: Yandere, Kidnapping, Age Regression Themes, Captivity

Requested by @gorgeourrific-nerd

Note: This is a very small part but I wanted to get it out there.

The first thought that crossed your mind as you woke was that you must have been asleep for years. Your body was aching all over, every joint was tight, it took you a good few minutes before you could hold your eyelids open on your own.

A relieving crack sounded from your wrists as you planted them into the mattress, hoisting yourself up in the bed.

Despite the room being pitch black, you could feel the absence of Arthur's warmth.

Most people would feel relieved being in a room without their captor, yet all you felt was dread. Your breath felt like it was being sucked from your lungs, your stomach dropping and twisting into knots.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you blinked as you scanned the room, looking for any light emanating from the crack in the door.

"I bet you wish he was here now." A deep, dulcet voice resonated around you.

Your throat ran dry, leaving you without your voice.

"He must love you deeply if he's trying to keep you from me."

A blinding streak of purple appeared across the far wall, before it swelled, drowning the entire room in vivid violet.

"Shall we see how innocent you truly are?"

Regardless of the fear that possessed your body, you followed the source of light and sound, your mouth falling open as you saw her.

A giant crocodile head staring you down from the last lingering darkness in the corner of your room, her eyes haunted with that familiar glow.

The floor beneath her creaked as she took a step forward, her headress and lock of braids coming into view.

A chilling scream rattled through you, pushing past the painful strain in your throat. Jumping off the end of your bed, you grasped the door handle, attempting to jiggle it open.

"Let me out!" Your cries shook the surrounding walls.

"He is the only thing keeping you from me."

Your fists pounded against the door as you choked on your own sobs, "Help me!"

"What will you do now that he's gone?" She hissed, taking a step towards you.

The sound of her steps as she stalked towards you were drowned out by your deafening screams.

"He's not here to protect you."

The usually musty air froze over as she reached a claw to you, your blood chilling the closer she got.

Before you had another chance to cry for help, the purple glow dissipated from your room, being replaced with a warm light as the door swung open.

You threw yourself into his arms, clinging onto him in fear he would disappear.

"Hey hey, baby, are you okay?" He urged, cupping your face between his large hands.

You couldn't respond, instead continuing to sob against his chest, arms squeezing his waist.

~

It took ten minutes of back rubs and comforting whispers for Arthur to be able to soothe you to the point where you could get a few clear words out.

You clung to him, curled up on his lap after he managed to coax you back into the room.

"What is it honey, huh?"

You rested your head against his collarbone.

"I-It was a monster," You whispered in between hiccups.

His firm hand paused briefly, before continuing to gently pat your bottom in comfort, "What was?"

The corners of your lips drooped in unison with your brows as your eyes began to water, "It was a crocodile, a really big crocodile."

Delicately tugging his slender fingers through your hair, he pulled your head away to look in your eyes, "Ammit?"

A flicker of fear struck across your eyes as her name rang through your ears.

"Honey, Ammit isn't awake yet, she can't hurt you."

You sat up on his knee, frantically shaking your head, "No, no it was her, I saw her!"

A pitied look etched on his face, his hands still combing through your hair, "Oh baby."

[lucytara]

Yeah I get wanting some variation in your writing and whatnot. Hmm.

Gold. "I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her." Bumbleby.

Have fun!

it’s possible. that i went. a little overboard with this prompt. 

"I defy you. I defy your god. The laws of the universe said my love was gone from me. I said watch me save her."

All four candles are lit in the corners of the small room, wicks burning purple and melting black wax. Her offering sits in a dish at the feet of the small statue - an old, worn piece of paper, bent and torn around its edges - and she herself kneels in the center of the floor, her hands clasped.

“I’ve never done this,” she begins, “but my name is Yang Xiao Long, and I humbly request an audience.”

Nothing happens, though she isn’t sure what she would’ve expected even if it had; the flames flicker with her unsteady heartbeat, the blood in her ears crashing as if waves in a storm. For some reason it’s embarrassing, calling on a higher entity who decides to put you through to voicemail.

She tries again, and aims for theatrical exaggeration; maybe the gods like a bit of a show. If she’s making a fool of herself, she might as well do it brilliantly. “O, Great Goddess! I call upon thee - All-Knowing Ruler of the Dead, Empress of the Night, Most Holy Lady of Darkness, Reigning Queen of Entropy--”

“I think that’s probably enough,” a voice comes from in front of her, amusement evident beneath its tone. “What was that one in the middle? ‘Empress of the Night’? I might keep that.”

Her head whips up towards the sound, and a woman in a deep purple cloak is leaning against her own statue, arms crossed and watching her performance with a look that can only be described as shameless delight. Gorgeous black hair framing golden eyes, like the sky wrapping itself around stars; the statue doesn’t do her justice.

“Oh my God,” Yang says, sitting back on her heels. All the preparation and rehearsing she’d done isn’t enough to conquer the shock of a beautiful, unearthly woman appearing in front of her and--

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

--mercilessly mocking her.

“Well, Yang Xiao Long?” the woman continues. “Why have you called upon me?”

“How do you know my name?” Yang says stupidly.

“I’m a god,” the goddess replies, a smile pulling at a corner of her mouth. “I’m the all-knowing ruler of the dead or whatever. Also, you said your name when you summoned me.”

“Fuck,” Yang says, struggling to regain her composure and failing spectacularly. “I - yeah. Right. Okay. Is it rude to swear in front of gods? And what do I call you?”

“I’ll allow it,” the woman says. “And you can call me Blake.”

“Blake,” Yang repeats; her hands open and close like a nervous tick. The name is a heavy weight in her mouth, settling her into steadiness. “I’ve come to request guidance.”

“Guidance?” Blake repeats, and gently lifts the note from the offering dish, turning it carefully around her hands without opening it to read it - she doesn’t need to. Yang registers faint surprise in her expression; yes, she’d assumed the sentimentality would fetch a rather large price. “This is quite the payment.”

“It’s the last note I have from someone who loved me,” Yang says. “I figured it would be sufficient.”

Those bright, inquisitive eyes glance over to her, and now the playing field has been reversed: intrigue and curiosity outweigh Yang’s atrocious initial delivery.

“Stand, please,” Blake commands softly. “I want to get a good look at you.”

Obediently, Yang rises to her feet, and with an odd jolt realizes she’s a few inches taller than the goddess. It’s unexpected, and it seems to unnerve Blake for a moment, too. Or maybe that’s the candlelight, throwing shapes and colors, turning the room cavernous. Maybe Blake is shrinking and she’s growing. Maybe once she was so tall the entire world trembled beneath her feet.

“You already have power,” Blake says, circling her curiously, and now she’s seeing what isn’t visible, looking for handprints on her soul. “You have been claimed. Whom do you answer to?”

“I didn’t receive this power from a god,” Yang says quietly. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

“That’s impossible,” Blake says, and her gaze is piercing into Yang’s heart; she sees its strength, but she sees its scars, too. And its emptiness. There is plenty of that.

“Touch me,” Yang says. “You’ll find no prior claim.”

“I don’t need to.” Blake takes another step closer to her, the way you’d inspect a painting in a museum. Hands at her sides, cautious of glass and rope. “I can see your aura. But it’s impossible.”

“I’m looking for something,” Yang says, and Blake glances up, briefly meeting her eyes. “I don’t know what it is. But I’ve been looking for something for what feels like my entire life.”

Quizzical, now. One by one the candles are burning down. The room is collapsing in on them, or perhaps that’s simply the god in front of her, looking like she’d dive into Yang’s veins and unravel her if it were permitted.

“Why me?” Blake asks finally. “You know what I’m the goddess of, don’t you?”

“You guard death,” Yang says, her voice impossibly gentle; dusk flows river-like from her mouth. There is a world Blake can almost see. “But you can’t guard death without also guarding life, right? I don’t know what I’m looking for, but whatever it is, I imagine you encompass it.”

“Poetic,” Blake responds, and waits further. “I would like the truth, please. Our time is running short.”

There’s no point in playing games with gods. “The truth is stupid,” Yang says bluntly, and the corner of Blake’s mouth tilts again.

“Try me.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Yang says, and Blake’s eyebrows raise in amusement. Bold, reckless, and absolutely pushing her luck to the furthest corners it can inhabit. “Accept me as yours, and when the time is right, I will tell you the truth.”

“Is the truth that powerful?” Blake says, curious despite herself.

The last candle flutters, throwing shadows from Yang’s eyelashes to her cheek. “I think it is.”

--

“Welcome back, Empress of the Night,” Ruby says upon her return to the Kingdom, giving her an exaggerated bow. “I hope you enjoyed your summon, My Lady of Perpetual Darkness.”

“What the hell was that about?” Weiss asks. “I haven’t even heard you crack a joke for, like, a millennia, and suddenly you’re the court jester?”

“She was amusing,” Blake says, shrugging. “Usually people are so timid and terrified. I felt like having some fun.”

“You?” Weiss says dubiously.

“Shut up, Weiss,” Ruby says. “You mustn’t speak that way to Our Patron Saint, Duchess of Death.”

“Now you’re not even trying.”

“Don’t you both have work to do?” Blake says, ending the interrogation before it can really begin. She’s not sure she’d have the answers for them, anyway.

--

Yang journeys east.

Find me again, Blake had said. The closer you get to my temple, the more I can see of you. She’d brushed aside Yang’s bangs, touched a single finger to her forehead. It felt like a teardrop, or a meteor shower. It felt like digging up a grave, or chiseling into stone. It felt like the last explosion. It felt like the first breath.

You are mine, Blake had said, and something about it had felt far too right.

She crosses from Sanus to Anima, spends days traversing forests and mountains, fending off bandits and monsters. Eyes flashing red and fire licking up her skin. Aura glowing golden before breaking. There is something wrong with the trees, she thinks; there is something wrong with the sky. Like I’m looking at them from the wrong side.

Nobody is there to answer her, and not for the first time, she wonders how she came to be so alone.

--

Blake watches Yang’s power unveil itself from above. Yang is hers, now, and though she can’t make house calls to the world below without a summon, she at least has instant access to her claims. There aren’t many of them, and Yang is different.

It reminds her of the God of Vengeance, almost - how he absorbs power before returning it, strike by vicious strike - but Yang’s is personal, sacrificial. She feels the pain before she can utilize it, and her anger is never cruel, her actions never misplaced. And she doesn’t complain.

Sometimes, Blake wishes she would: she can hear when she’s being talked to, even if she can’t respond. Every prayer, every curse, every devastation, every hope.

She waits for the sound of Yang’s voice, but it never comes.

--

There’s a small shrine in a village called Shion, which is still weeks out from the docks where she can potentially get a ferry to Menagerie, but the locals are kind, and honor her far too greatly for being touched by their ruling god. They direct her to their place of worship deep in the woods, and leave her without looking back. It’s a sacred thing, a bond between a god and their chosen, and law forbids them from watching her ceremony.

Yang pulls the candle from her pouch, lighting it at the foot of the shrine. She kneels down on the stone, worn with the imprints of a thousand prayers, and says, “Blake.”

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you again.” The voice comes almost immediately, as if its owner had been waiting to be beckoned.

It’s still a bit of a shock, though she’s much better prepared for it this time. “Hi,” Yang says, and stops there before she can fuck it up.

“Hi,” Blake says, and seems to be amused against her will. More guarded, less open. Yang can read the warning signs, but she’ll cut them off at the source.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it, getting to her feet. “If I waited too long to contact you, I mean. I’m...not familiar with this area.”

“Don’t worry,” Blake says, lowering her arms. “It’s only been a few weeks. I won’t smite you until at least a month.”

Yang laughs, and unexpectedly to the both of them, Blake goes deadly still. Her body language says Yang’s done something wrong, but her expression says she’s hearing music.

The candle is burning. The moment can turn itself over gently, if Yang knows how to guide it. She keeps her smile on, but makes it quiet. “You know, I didn’t expect the Goddess of Death to have a sense of humor.”

It seems to work. “I like to surprise people,” Blake says, and moves closer. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You never talk to me,” she says, pretending to be in control of something she clearly isn’t. “Why not?”

Only the forest speaks for a moment, branches creaking, leaves rustling. And then: “Do you want me to?” Yang asks.

“It’s...something people tend to do,” Blake says slowly. “But not you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Yang says.

“It’s not a bother.” The words come out too quickly, tone too reassuring. Blake’s own want is what laces the conversation, rather than Yang’s uncertainty. That’s a new, dangerous line.

Yang takes a careful step forward, her eyes lowered to the ground as if in apology; they raise slowly, trailing over Blake’s form until meeting her gaze. Looking for lines she’s crossed, and should step back over; searching for lights that say go. Instead, she only finds an intense, hungry confusion - I want it without understanding what it is.

“You know,” she murmurs, “these statues - they never do you justice.”

And she lifts a hand to Blake’s cheek, hesitating over her skin - is that Blake’s catch of breath, or is it the wind? - before gently cupping it in her palm. She could lose an arm for this; touching a god without being explicitly asked is the greatest sin a mortal can commit, but Blake only stands there, unmoving, eyes wide and lips parted, the moon sitting in the hollow of her throat.

“Blake,” she whispers, and it can only be a god’s strength keeping her voice steady, “I’m never not thinking of you.”

The candle goes out.

--

Nobody is waiting for her when she returns. This is how gods give each other gifts - by saying, no, I see everything but I didn’t see you.

--

Yang starts talking to her, and changes her routes so that rather than taking the most direct path to Menagerie, she’s able to stop at some of the smaller shrines on the way. There are only two more, and she hasn’t called Blake since Shion. Yang hopes she’ll still come.

“Isn’t it strange,” Yang says, “how much easier it is to think about someone than to talk about them? I think about you differently than I can talk about you. I don’t even know if that makes sense.”

No response; not that she expects one. At this point, she assumes Blake’ll just kill her if she gets too annoying. Maybe a tree will fall on her, or she’ll do something embarrassing like trip over a rock and break her neck. “I can’t remember much about my life. I know there were people I loved, but I can’t see their faces. I must’ve traveled a lot; I don’t like sitting still. I don’t know how old I am, or even when my birthday is.” She’s never admitted this before; never admitted she came to lying on the ground, with only her name left ringing in her skull and a note in her pocket.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she tells the warm night air. “That’s what I was trying to say. Before. Blake, I think you’re beautiful.”

A star shoots across the sky, light trails leaving imprints against the swirling blue-purple-black of the galaxy, but it must be a coincidence.

--

Another shrine, another candle. This one burrowed into the side of a mountain, a dome of a room with a hand-woven rug for kneeling, several long benches behind. The statue sits against the far wall, centered.

“They’re getting better,” Yang says, getting to her feet. “This one, at least, gets your eyes right.”

“Hm,” Blake says, pressing her lips together. She moves to stand next to Yang rather than in front of her, and they both examine the statue together. “I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“Were the compliments too much?” Yang asks, impressed with how light her voice sounds. She nudges Blake’s elbow with her own. Oh, she’ll see how much distance she can cross. She’s already walked miles - she’ll swim oceans, too. “You said you wanted me to talk to you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Blake denies unconvincingly, and then pauses. “And in regards to your first question - I didn’t say that, either.”

Yang could tease her - so even gods like being called pretty, huh - or she could be brave, turn to Blake, take her face in both of her hands and lean in--

“Yang,” Blake says, and does step one of that plan by turning to her. “What do you want from me?”

Maybe the idea’s overwhelmed her to the degree that she can no longer see its risks - its potentially horrible, literally life-ending consequences - and that's what drives her to do it. Maybe it’s that Blake is looking at her like a poem; something beautiful, not to be understood by anyone but the artist who made her.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Yang says, as if it were merely an interesting, hypothetical concept to explore and not the end of the world. “Is that possible, even if you wanted me to?”

This room is warm and close and silent. The clay is cracking where the floor meets the walls. A tunneled-through skylight is the only thing that keeps Blake from swallowing the place in shadows, instead coating them in an amber, dream-like glow. Like if you mixed the two of them together, you’d still be left with light.

“I think,” Blake murmurs, “we’re both going to have to find that out.”

Step two of her plan. Both of her hands cupping Blake’s cheeks. She’s strangely aware of her lifelines - do they mean anything to you, she wants to ask, does my life mean anything to you now and if it doesn’t, will my death - she leans in, their noses brushing, Blake’s breathing as if she needs to, Yang isn’t and she does; teach me about magic, teach me about memory, tell me how I knew you before I knew myself--

Blake kisses her, tired of her caution and hesitancy, lips parting and fists knotting around the fabric of her shirt. Yang expects them to crash together, like comets. She expects them to crumble and collapse under the impact, buried in the ruins of each other and suffocating. She expects them to decay there, reveling in their own destruction.

What she doesn’t expect is sunlight.

Her skin set aflame, Blake’s tongue in her mouth, hands traveling from her face to her lower back and pressing close - somewhere a rule is being written about the gods and desperation - Blake pulls away, gasps, her fingers begging for Yang’s heart.

“This power,” she says, mesmerized, staring at things only she can see, golden gossamer roots running up Yang’s veins. “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang breathes out, and kisses her one last time before the candle burns out. “But I swear I’ve never felt closer to finding out.”

--

Nobody attempts to stop her from barging through God’s door. Weiss and Ruby, Sun and Neptune; they all avert their eyes. I see everything, but I do not see you.

“What is she?” Blake asks, standing before them with her head bowed. “Please, God. I need to know.”

“If you weren’t already sure,” God says, “you wouldn’t be here.”

She hates it when they’re right.

--

Yang hits the docks; situated on the outskirts of a fishing village called Ito, and with constant transport to Menagerie, their shrine to Blake is the largest one yet.

“And this one?” Blake asks, before Yang has even begun to pray.

“How did you do that?” Yang says, staring up at her, startled. “Are we, like, super close now?”

“Shut up,” Blake says, but she’s smiling. She extends a hand, helping Yang to her feet. “Your soul calls me. You barely even have to light the candle, anymore.”

The sound of the ocean knocks on the door; the smell tackles the windows. Above, the seagulls are crying out, angry at all the fish they can’t have. Yang says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Blake says, and kisses her. Soft and chaste. Something so human and so immortal. “I missed you.”

“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Yang teases, her fingers catching Blake’s chin in her hands.

“No,” Blake says, and for the first time, smiles with her teeth. Oh, this is happiness. “I do this with everyone who requests my presence. I’m very popular.”

“I can imagine,” Yang says, brushing a thumb across her bottom lip. “So what else are you the god of?”

“You had a few of them right,” Blake says nonchalantly, settling against Yang’s body. She could be taller, if she wanted to be, but there’s so much beauty to see when looking up. “Night, and all things within it. Darkness, shadows. Death.”

“What else?” Yang says, watching her mouth shape every letter.

“Forgiveness, and justice,” Blake murmurs. Oh, there’s a fine print for this, and she’s violating every word. “Promises,” she continues. “Seduction.”

Hook, line - a heavy wave rattles the walls; oh, the sea, the sea! - Yang shudders against her mouth, salt sinking into her blood. Leaves her bouyant and floating, the earth bubbling up beneath her. Rising and rising and rising.

“Shockingly,” Yang says, letting Blake press kisses into the crook of her neck, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

--

“God,” Blake finds herself standing before them once again, hands clasped and head bowed. She speaks formally in the presence of God, as is customary of respect. “Please, God. I am supposed to be guiding her, but I fear all I’ve done is lead her astray. I need to know where she came from, and where she is going.”

“Blake,” God says, and touches the top of her head with their hand, “she is close to your temple. Look at her, and tell me what you see.”

--

Menagerie is a busy, populated island, and Blake’s temple is the primary reason for that. Pilgrimages are made from around the world to pray at her shrine and leave offerings at her feet. Protect me from loss, help me navigate my grief, let me fulfill my promise.

Yang is none of those things. And when the keepers of the temple ask the reason for her journey, she says, “I am in love with her.”

“You have been touched,” one says, and bows to her upon entry. “You have as long as the goddess is willing to give you.”

The heavy doors close, but the room shimmers, firelight glittering over golden-accented walls. A large moon is carved into the marble floor, crossing over a sun. Before her is the largest, most intricately carved statue of Blake she’s ever seen, and it looks exactly like her.

Yang kneels.

“You know,” Blake says from behind her, “you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“No,” Yang says. “But it - it’s been a long journey. And I’m only here because of you.”

  Blake’s footsteps echo, her boots stopping at the north point of the sun. “How do you feel?”

It’s enough to make Yang smile. “I know you heard me,” she says pointedly, but her amusement is apparent. “You hear everything I say.”

“I thought I’d give you the chance to tell me yourself.”

For the last time, Yang rises to her feet. Blake’s eyes glitter, mischievous and playful. She looks as she always has, but clearer, somehow; defined and resolute. She carries the truth in the way she extends a hand, in the way she searches for Yang’s mouth. When they kiss, Yang swears she can see another world.

“I’ll tell you something better,” Yang says. “The truth.”

She leans down, bumps their foreheads together. Blake’s arms loop around her neck automatically. Oh, Yang thinks, if I were the god of anything, I’d want it to be habits.

“So what’s the truth?” Blake asks.

“The truth,” Yang says unshakably, “is that it was you. I woke up with no memory and a note, and somehow, I knew I had to find you. The only thing I’ve been searching for is you.”

It’s you, she says. It’s you. You. You.

--

“God,” Blake says, and this time God is ready for her.

“Blake Belladonna,” God says, and inclines their head. “Come. Show me what you have.”

In her hands is a small slip of paper, worn and ripped around the edges. “It is a note,” she says, and unfolds it gingerly. “It is a note, God, in my handwriting.”

“And what does it say?” they ask.

“Find me,” Blake recites, “and I promise I’ll bring you home.”

“Well,” God says whimsically, “you are the Goddess of Promises.”

--

Tears build in the corners of her eyes, shipwrecks gaining water. “Yang,” Blake whispers, and now that she is close, she can see everything. Meteors falling from their showers; the day the sun went out. “Yang. I’m sorry. I’m so, so--”

“Shh,” Yang murmurs, pressing her lips into Blake’s hair. “What are you apologizing for? I found you, and you brought me home.”

--

“Oh, this is exciting,” God says. “I so rarely get to come to Remnant on business.”

“God,” Yang says, and bows her head. The temple doors remain locked; Blake’s hand is clutched tightly in her own. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” says God. “You fell in the last war, over five-hundred years ago. Do you remember this?”

“Yes,” she says. “I was trying to protect my sister.”

“And what happens when a god falls?”

“We forget them,” Blake says. “Their power is forfeit; they are erased from our memories, and our world.”

“It is not a law of justice, but a law of reality,” God says. “Or it was, previously. Only you did not forget immediately, Blake Belladonna. I did not know it was possible for two souls to be so intrinsically bound that they leave traces in the other, but you did not forget, just long enough to leave her a message. It took five hundred years for Yang to fall to earth, and when she awoke, she did not forget, either.

“Gods are made, and this means that what we are gods of can change,” they continue. “Blake, you were not previously the Goddess of Death. You became it because you believed that Yang had died, and no god had as strong a connection to loss as you. Your power became a beacon, just as it now will be a beacon for Remembrance.

“And you, Yang Xiao Long,” God says. “Goddess of the Sun, of Loyalty, of Sacrifice. You were many things. And now you are the Goddess of Rebirth.”

[catzula]

So, you chose the indigo tent?

Welcome to Shinsou's route on something wicked this way comes. I hope you enjoy.

a/n: so, here goes nothing. I'm really excited for this and I really hope you like it! Leave me a like, a reblog or a comment if you enjoyed it 😗

a big thank you to @qawaii for beta reading because you are the only person I can send this to beta and not die of embarrassment. Also thank you love for always motivating me and hyping me I love you muah.

Warnings: NSFW! Minors do not interact! Smut. 7.4k of pwp. Degrading, blow job, orgasm denial (once), hair pulling, slight choking, calling good girl, enemies to lovers kinda vibe, idk what else

Everyone has their low points of life. This night must be yours, you think.

You're tired- exhausted and on the brink of possibly passing out, even; hungry, frustrated, cold, and shivering, and everything seems to be going wrong.

Standing on the hill before the tents, you try to focus on why you're here. Never to feel like this again, of course, but it's hard to push yourself to take one more step at this point.

You have to find Aizawa; you repeat yourself. Find him, convince him to take you in so you won't ever feel this hopeless, so you won't ever think if you can survive sleeping in a night as cold as this. You can't go back, won't go back to that place you once called home. You're determined to find a new home or never belong anywhere again.

There is a dull pain on your fingers, feeling like they're frozen and burning. You know you gave to find somewhere warm to at least wear the exhaustion off of you, regain movement in your fingers and feel like you won't pass out any second.

You'd rather sleep, but you're more than aware how dangerous that could be, so you'd have to yield to a stop break, instead. As the thought seeps into your mind, your brain doesn't even give you the chance to rethink; quick to come up with more reasons for why you should rest first, then find Aizawa.

It's the sweet hope of finding warmth that pulls you closer to the tents. You know it's mad to even think of going in any of them, straight into the territory of people that are freaks, people with quirks that makes you an easy bait for them to kill.

But exhaustion has that kind of an effect on people, and even the worst ideas seem bright at the time, mind foggy, unable to give you a reasonable answer when you ask yourself what's the worst that could happen.

You won't be staying for long, anyway, if anyone finds you, you'll flee- you're smart, not so strong but quick, you can run, right?

Your eyes scan the tents to see which one you can go in and out of without being noticed, and you're quick to eliminate the red and black ones.

The red tent has torches all over, so there's no way you can try and sneak in. And the black tent- well, you don't have a good feeling about it.

The tent closest to you has heavy-looking, dark blue curtains, but when you look closer, you can see the light coming from there, too. Your body getting heavier and heavier by the second, and you're pouting as your eyes fall on the indigo, purple tent. A few careful steps taken closer, you confirm there isn't light coming from inside.

As you come even closer, so close that the heavy, velvet-like material of the tent brushes your naked arms, making goosebumps run down your body. You wait for a few seconds for a sound, anything that indicates there is someone there, but after a few minutes of waiting, you conclude there isn't.

You're reluctant but quick to slip through the curtains, staying close to the exit so you can flee without having to face anyone.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to adjust in the darker room, and you're careful as you scan the room step by step.

It's not massive, but the area still seems bigger than any tent you've seen. It's almost twice your room- your old room.

Head pounding with exhaustion creeping in, you find a hiding place behind a cupboard in the corner. Your body acts before you, slipping in the small opening with ease. It's an advantageous hiding place , giving you the chance to spy on the entrance without blatantly sticking out.

As you wait for someone to come in, for something to happen in this dead of the night, your body starts feeling the signs of exhaustion even worse than before, with finding a warm place and somewhere to sit, adrenaline slowly leaving your body.

And before you know it, you're asleep.

~

You only after realize that you hadn't thought this through.

You wake up by the dim, reflected light of a candle- you're lucky you're a light sleeper, or you wouldn't have woken up to someone entering the tent.

The silhouette of a man dances on the floor, crouching down as he holds the candle in one hand and busies the other with the pile of clothes. Not sure when he entered the tent, it seems he's not yet aware of your presence, and you know you have to get out before he does.

Noticing his back is turned to you, you finally gather the courage to peep your head from where you sit. A purple head of hair is what you first notice, his ltousled ocks sticking in every direction as if he faced a thunderstorm.

He's reaching towards the pile of clothes, eyes half open as a look of exhaustion challenging yours lingers on his face.

As you stretch your head a little more from the corner you're hiding in, you finally see something hiding between the pile of clothes. It's a cat, you realize. The man's hand runs over the black fur; it makes the cat close his eyes and lean to the touch as he continues to pat its head, scratching under its ears.

You're not aware how intensely you're watching him, wide eyes following his movements, how his odd hair color catches the dim candlelight on itself, soft shadows dancing on the sharp, handsome features of his face.

You know you have to run, get out of here before he notices you, but it's like you're in a faze, curiosity boiling in your body.

It's a scene to behold, the pair of a mad-looking man and a black cat relishing in each others' presence as you gasp and retract back when the cat suddenly opens its eyes, golden gaze looking directly at you.

Your heart drumming in your ears as you sink more into the corner you're in, you miss how the candle he's holding flickers and the way his head tilts your way so slightly.

For a few minutes, nothing happens. You're too afraid to breathe, let alone reach back out to see what the man's doing. It's silent other than your booming heart, and despite knowing you have to get out of there- now, you can't do anything but wait.

"Aren't you cold?" The voice breaks the silence in the tent, a deep grumble that turns your stomach upside down. You think you recognize it; you've heard it earlier today, quickly depicting who he is; the man with the black, beak-like mask who was doing the hypnosis tricks.

"Does anyone want to volunteer for this trick?" He had asked many times that night. "If yes, cheer for me so I can see who does."

It's an automatic response; to cheer with the whistling and clapping crowd, and you hadn't noticed the self-satisfied smile he hid behind the mask at getting a reply from everyone watching him.

"I'm talking to the cat, not to the person hiding behind the cupboard, by the way." The man speaks again, a sarcastic comment that comes out of his lips so indifferently, and it shows how unfazed he is even by having another presence hiding in his tent.

Even the thought of it is chilling, but you don't give yourself the time to ponder about it, now that your cover is blown, leaping towards the exit. You're fast and agile, and Shinsou thinks you would've escaped if you were in the presence of anyone else.

But you aren't, and you soon come to realize that as well.

As you push the velvet curtains and the cold air hits your face, you're sure you've escaped since the man hasn't moved from where he stood. Still, not taking a second more, you're about to disappear into the night.

But instead of running after you, you hear him speak.

"Stop," It's a simple command that would've made you scoff any other time. Does this man really think you would-

stop.

Just in the border of the night and the tent, you suddenly lose the ability to control your body.

You freeze, despite your mind screaming at you to get out of there; you're not able to move an inch as you watch the man as he walks towards you, painfully slow, too.

As he stops before you, you're forced to realize just how bigger he is than you. Crazy locks of hair defy gravity, looking deep blue instead of the purple you had seen in his show.

He looks mean as he stands before you, eyes locked on you. Dangerous, even.

Stuck in a body you can't charge, you have to wait as his eyes scan you with a frown on his lips, the only emotion available on his face being a silent surprise and tiredness. Even with the situation you're in, you can't help but notice he's even more handsome up close. Secretly admiring his dark indigo eyes looking at you with suspicion, the circles under his eyes giving him an even more stern look, lips pressed into a line, high cheekbones shadowing his cheeks.

"Speak." He commands once again, and you fear if you had control of your body, you might've shivered at his tone.

"Wh-what did you do to me?!" It's your first reaction to regaining control; it makes the purple-haired man scoff. He leans a little closer to you, the ends of his locks close to grazing your face, but not quite, inspecting you with a scorning look and a mean frown. He's the source of the tinge of lavender smell in the room, you realize. That and something a little more... musky.

Despite having the control to speak, you're silent as he judges you, and you swear the corner of his lips quirk at that, too. "You were at the show today, weren't you? I think you can guess what's happening."

"You- you hypnotized me!" You shout, terrified. When he hears the accusing tone of your voice, the man quirks a brow at you.

"You broke into my tent." He mocks you with a smile, looking you up and down. "Aren't you cold?" He repeats. "Come in."

Your body obeys the commend, following the man back into the tent you just escaped, your body once again meeting the lavender-tinted warm air. You stand in the middle of the room as you watch him plop himself on a seat, legs wide open, almost invitingly so, his lips curved into a smile as his gaze keeps wandering on you.

You're unable to help it when your gaze starts shifting on his form, too, especially with the way he's looking at you now; you're not sure if it's the harsh shadows on his face that makes him look so irresistible, with that knowing smirk when he catches your eyes flicking lower than they should. When he quirks a brow at you, with eyes that almost tell you; I know what you're thinking, it suddenly feels a little too warm.

A hum vibrates in the air before he speaks again. "Tell me, pretty girl," he says, "why were you in my tent?"

As soon as you hear the command, you brace yourself to blurt out the whole truth, but- you don't. Questioning eyes finding him; he shrugs. "I'm not going to force it out of you."

He looks so smug with the way he says it, too, making you scoff with narrowed eyes. "Oh, how generous of you."

He ignores the mocking tone of your voice, the only indication he even heard them being the slight tilt of his lips. "If I knew you wouldn't flee the moment I let you go, too, you wouldn't be in this situation, either."

"Is that so?" You mutter, seemingly disinterested. "I will, though."

Your words seem to amuse him, the way you resist him, despite being entirely under his mercy, acting like he has no power over you.

So he smiles; it's deceptive, dark, exciting. It makes the air shift into something new; something that feels thicker, hotter, lustful.

He seems indifferent, however, and you hope he's blind to how your body reacts, as well, to when he sighs, hands running through his tangled, odd-colored locks.

"Why are you still keeping me here, anyway?" You blurt out, wanting to get out of here before you do something... mad.

"I'm curious." He answers the question, a smile resting on his plush lips as he shrugs. "Why were you in my tent?"

Eye for an eye, you think as he counters you with his question. He had answered yours, and it was only fair if you did the same. "I was cold," you tell him, staying as vague as possible. "Your tent seemed warm."

"That's it?" His brows arch up. "The rest isn't any of your business."

"I'm curious."

"I don't even know your name!" You huff angrily. "All I know is you're a guy who works in a circus with powers that leave me a puppet in your hands. I'm not here to entertain you."

As you blurt the last sentence, you don't miss his dark chuckle at it. "We'll see about that," he mutters, but before giving you the chance to speak, he speaks again. "My name's Shinsou. Feeling better?"

"Much." You mock him with an exaggerated smile, voice hostile. "Now will you let me go?"

"Why would I?" He laughs. "You still haven't answered my questions, and haven't you heard it's only courtesy to tell your own name when someone tells you theirs?"

"And haven't you heard it's being a basic human fucking being not to keep people under your influence like this?"

A beat of silence passes as he ponders on an answer and fails, and both of you know he lost this round. "Kitty's got claws, I see." He swipes his tongue on his bottom lip, amusedly watching your reaction at the pet name. You sneer at him- but Shinsou's a little too interested in this to miss the way you shift in your place, your quickening breaths, the flutter of your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

"Why? Got you excited?" Shinsou quirks a brow when you squeak angrily. "You won't even tell me your name."

You would've rolled your eyes if you could, instead just sighing at the purple-haired man. "It's Y/N." You answer. "My Name's Y/N."

It's been a while since Shinsou had this much fun; he missed this game of cat and mouse.

"Very well then, Y/N," he repeats your name as suggestive as possible, "would you answer my question? I can force the answer out of you, you know." He looks amused as he leans forward in his chair, suddenly much more interested in what you say, how you move. Like a predator watching its prey. "All it takes is a command."

Each word makes its way out of his lips so smoothly- you shiver at the way he speaks them. And you're disappointed when you realize not with fear.

It was a lost game the moment you even felt a tinge of lust towards the man, but you doubt there is anyone who can resist his charm. Still, you refuse to play into his hand, choosing to fight submitting to him just like that.

"With your witchcraft or whatever it is, yes." You shoot back, "but you can never control me without it." You feel needles of excitement run over your skin.

"Hm?" He quirks a brow, a feline cat on his lips, making you shiver with the lust settling on his gaze. Your eyes follow the movement of his adam's apple when he gulps. "You think I can't make you do as I say without my powers?" His voice drops an octave, and it almost makes you gasp.

"I know you can't." You sneer. "I would never let you."

"Big words from a little girl. Are you challenging me?"

"And what if I am?"

"Well," Shinsou slides his tongue over his lip, your gaze follows the movement. "you'll have to prove it to me."

As he speaks the words, the heaviness that had consumed your body disappears, as well. Your eyes shoot up- only meeting his mocking indigo gaze. You don't need him to tell you what to do, as one glance is enough for you to see how his pants seem a little strained over his crotch, a print making itself visible.

"What?" He asks, a grin resting on his lips as you stay still. His voice is deep, a guttural, almost tired tone that has you shivering with each way he speaks his words. "All bark, no bite? I thought you were up for a challenge- oh." You effectively shut him up when you settle before the man in one quick motion, relishing in the way his eyes widen, a content, almost excited grin consuming his face.

"You were saying something?" You purr innocently, as if you're not kneeling between his legs, licking your lips and giving him a glance from beneath your lashes.

"Nothing," Shinsou huffs out a laugh, settling in his chair to give you better access. "Do go on."

His dick is even more prominent now, you notice, a wicked smile settling on your lips. You lift your hand to trace his cock, touch ghosting him from over the material of his pants. He's semi-hard beneath your fingers, but even then, you have to muffle a gasp at just how big he is. Unfortunately, he seems to notice the widening of your eyes and your gulp.

He leans forward to tease you, but you don't give him a chance. His eyes flutter close when your hand finally takes him in your hold. "Shit-" Shinsou curses, his tongue darts out to wet his lips as you palm him over the material of his pants, not fast nor hard enough to satisfy him but to keep him tittering on edge. "You fucking tease." He sounds out of breath, but somehow manages to open his eyes to give you a dark look.

"Can't wait to fuck it out of you."

Shinsou waits, endures your torture until you yourself can't, growing impatient to feel him in your mouth.

His chuckle sinister as he aids you while your fingers work his pants off, leaving you face to face with his now hard cock, a small patch of wetness painting his briefs a darker color.

"Look what you did to me," Shinsou heaves, forcing himself to keep his indigo eyes open and on you. "making me hard without even taking me in your mouth."

You bite your lip as your hands slip beneath his boxers, feeling him hot and pulsing under your touch for the first time. You both groan at the sensation.

As you finally push his briefs down, you first see a tuff of deep-purple hair, his cock red and angry. "Ah, fuck." He curses at the contact with the cold air, his head lolling and falling back slightly.

"If it's too much-" he breathes before you can move any further, "tap my thigh twice, or yell bandaid." He only lets you go on when you nod, making sure you understood what he said.

Without waiting any longer, you take him in your hand, and it only makes you realize he's even bigger than you originally had thought. You try to hide your doubts on if you're even going to be able to fit him in your mouth, but he realizes anyway. "What?" Shinsou mutters breathily, "scared?"

You don't answer him, leaning forward to take the sensitive tip between your mouth, instead. The bitter taste of precum has a tinge of sweetness to it, and you don't even realize you start suckling on it a bit harder to get more of the taste.

"Oh- fucking hell." He runs his hands through his hair with a loud groan, a borderline moan, when you suck particularly hard, twirling your tongue around his sensitive head. The sound makes its way straight down to your core.

Your other hand comes up to cup his balls as you let go of his angry red tip, tracing his cock to the base with kisses planted along his shaft. "Ah- fuck, fuck, fuck!" Shinsou groans when you massage his balls softly, leaving kisses on the base, your other hand pumping him slower than he wants it.

"Stop fucking teasing." He growls, voice breathy and shallow. "Or are you afraid -ah- you can't take it all?"

The smug grin he has, despite your best efforts to wipe it off has you fuming. You know he only says it to rile you up, but it works. "Shut up." You spit at the handsome man, not even missing a beat or trying to ease him in as you start pushing yourself on his length. It's pure spite, he knows it too, but it only makes it more fun for Shinsou.

You underestimated him.

You open your mouth as much as you can, jaw aching almost immediately with the pressure, but you try to discard the feeling, focused on having as much of him in your mouth.

"Ah fuck!" He groans out loudly, hips twitching, a thrust in your welcoming mouth before he can catch himself. "Good fuckin' girl," Shinsou breathes, his hand flying to your head as support, pushing you even further down. You almost miss the subtle whiny moan he lets out when you gag loudly around him. The head of his cock hitting the back of your throat as Shinsou keeps pushing you down on his cock mindlessly, your heart drums in your ears, jaw aching, breaths shallow and insufficient.

"Look at you- oh, look at you." Shinsou mutters between his ragged breaths. "Such an obedient little girl, so pretty, so eager-" his warm cock thrusts deeper in your mouth and makes you gag once again, tears that had welled in your eyes before now spilling down your cheeks. Shinsou's half-lidded gaze falls on you, face wet with drool, tears, and his precum, and you feel his cock twitch along with a groan, "-so eager to please me."

You wish- you wish you could protest, say he's wrong, that you don't care the slightest bit about how he feels, but you can't. And not because of his cock stuffing your mouth, either.

Instead, you feel the blood starting to rush downwards, straight to your pussy, making you soil your panties with how he spits out each syllable.

Shinsou's aware of this, too, how effective his words are. His head falls back, weak to the pleasure you're giving him, moaning and gagging around his length as he thrusts faster into you. The dull pain in your skull feels so good, the ache of your throat, his cock hot and heavy on your tongue-

"You're- you're getting off on this, huh?" Shinsou tightens his grip on your hair. "You like it when I call you a good girl? You like it when I use you as a fuck hole?"

You try to lie, shake your head no, but he doesn't give you a chance, no room to move your head with how tight his hold is. With one thrust exceptionally deep, Shinsou laughs almost cruelly as he speaks. "Of course, you do. You're sucking me so fucking well; it's impossible you don't."

"Good girl- good fucking girl, I bet you're soaking in your panties, too, huh? What a little slut. I thought you weren't going to give in? I thought you said I couldn't control you?"

"Fuck you." You spit out when you pull away from his cock, but he doesn't seem pleased by it. "Don't speak with your mouth full, darling." Shinsou growls, his hand cupping your jaw and forcing your eyes to meet his, fingers digging deep into the soft of your skin. "Didn't anyone teach my baby any manners? Or are you just too dumb to learn?"

You open your mouth to say something, but before you can even utter a word, his long fingers force their way through your lips; whatever you were going to say stays as a muffled moan.

"You know, from the moment I saw you all I thought about as you talked and talked and talked was how I wanted to put that big mouth of yours into good use."

In all honesty- it was all you thought about as well.

With seeing the glint in your eyes, Shinsou huffs out a laugh. "Oh, look at my pretty little slut." He forces his fingers even deeper, making you gag. "You think I don't know what you're thinking? You think I don't know how much you want my cock in your mouth? Such a whore, hiding in my tent. You did this on purpose, didn't you? Came here to get fucked like a bitch in heat by one of us freaks?"

The last words are but a haze to you since by then; he's already pushing himself back and forth past your abused lips, moaning at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth, without giving you the time to think, to breathe, to accustom. Shinsou holds a ruthless pace, gripping your head fest by the hair as he groans and moans, making you squirm under him. "Good girl- ah, fuck, such a good girl, suck my cock just like that- ah!"

"Fuck- I'm coming." You almost don't hear him, only raise your gaze to his half-lidded eyes and feel his cock twitch between your lips. "I'm coming- ah- shit, shit shit!"

Your moans get louder as his thrusts get sloppier, and you feel his whole body tremble at your voice. "I'm gonna- fuck!" Shinsou finally feels himself falling over the edge he's been dancing on, his hot cum shooting down your aching, abused throat, moaning when he notices how eagerly you swallow his cum.

His body falls limp back on the seat, chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths. There is a sheen layer of sweat covering Shinsou's body, making the muscles of his body shine under the dim candlelight.

All you hear in the quiet tent is his deep breaths, his head resting back, eyes closed, and he seems exhausted. A few minutes pass for him to pull himself together, opening his eyes to look at you, and- fuck he's hard again.

"Are you okay?" You shake your head, suppressing a smile at his now even messier-looking hair.

"Are you okay?" You ask smugly, coughing once because of the ache. "Thought you were gonna- hey!" You squeak as he jumps on his feet, and in a moment, you find yourself swept off the floor and in his arms. "I see you still have words to speak." Shinsou laughs, his face so close to yours, you feel his breath fanning against your ear, and he feels you tremble between his arms. He quirks a brow at your surprised reaction. You hadn't expected him to be able to continue, truth be told.

"What?" He continues, "I thought I made myself clear when I said I'd fuck it out of you."

You try to keep your last bit of resistance in you by speaking, "I'd like to see you try." But both of you seem aware you've already lost.

"Oh, I'm sure you do." Shinsou gives you a look before placing- throwing you on the unmade bed, eliciting a loud gasp from you. The dim candlelight hits his naked form in a way that has you rubbing your legs in anticipation. He isn't bulky but well-built and muscular, enough to toss you around with ease, enough to have your mouth watering at the thought of running your fingers over his well-defined muscles.

His gaze predatory, Shinsou looks dissatisfied eyeing you. "Strip." He orders, a knowing smile finding its way on his lips as you realize he won't use his powers but knows you'll obey his command like a good girl.

And you do, too. Maybe it's the anticipation or the uncanny glint in Shinsou's eyes that get to your head, but thoughts of defiance are thrown out of the window as you're shrugging off your clothes without giving it a second thought.

"That's it." He grins, his index finger just barely ghosting over your thigh, and he relishes how you squirm because of it. "Look how good you can be for me."

"Such a pretty girl," his hand continues circling your bare legs, getting dangerously close to where you need him the most, but never quite giving it. "My pretty girl." You feel him smile on your skin, littering it with kisses and bites as his fingers ghost over your pussy.. "A shame she has that bratty streak, though."

Shinsou clicks his tongue, suddenly pulling his hand back away, suppressing a smile at your needy whine. It's the kind of sound that's pushing him closer to ruining you by the second.

"No, no, baby, don't cry." You feel his hand cup your face, pads of his fingers tracing your face. His thumb grazes your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in, the sudden intrusion making you moan around it. "I'm here to help you with that."

Help you, he does. You feel his finger graze your clit, circling it just barely but even that slightest contact has you gasping for more after spending that long focused on him.

"Look at you," Shinsou tuts disappointedly, "just barely touched you, and you're soaking wet. Did you enjoy sucking me that much? Did you like how my dick tastes so much that it turned you on?"

"I-" you try to gather your thoughts, but he silences you by pushing one of his fingers in your pussy, his fingers long and slim, such pretty hands he has, his pale skin glistening with your wetness. "What was that?"

"P-please," you beg pathetically as all his motions still abruptly, eyes turning steal as he leans so close that you think your noses might touch. His other hand latches on your hair when your head lolls back down, his grip forcing you to keep your eyes on his indigo ones. The dull pain in your scalp goes straight to your core, and Shinsou can tell by how you clench around his finger.

"That isn't an answer to my question, Y/N." Your name rolls of his tongue so cold, so distant, you find yourself whining at it.

"Y-yes!" You exclaim, hips moving and grinding against his hand to find more friction with yet another cry, "I did- I did, so please!"

Shinsou has to admit.

Having you look at him with wide, watering eyes, face contorted in need of pleasure, your lips trembling as a form of begging- he doesn't think he can hold off much longer.

You feel so tight, even with just a finger, so warm and welcoming that he might be going crazy. Your mouth falls slack; eyes squeezed closed as you focus on the pleasure, silent other than shallow, desperate breathes.

"That's a good girl." Shinsou approves, adding a second finger and closing the gap between your faces to press a kiss on your lips as a reward.

So desperate for affection, you don't hear nor feel his amused laugh as you throw your arms around his neck when he starts to pull back after giving you but a peck, trying to hold him close, pull him into a kiss.

Shinsou shakes his head no, his fingers curling in you as he does so, your back arching off the bed. "Let's not get greedy, pretty girl. Don't worry; I'll take you there- as many times as you want. Okay?"

"Okay." You nod obediently and- fuck, Shinsou feels his dick ache with how hard he is.

"You take my fingers so well." He mutters, almost talking to himself, fascinated by how eager your pussy pulls him in. "Just listen how you gush around my fingers, how slutty your pussy is," Shinsou chuckles, the wet sound of your cunt making you cry out a whine. "Looks how wet you are, so messy, so pretty, wanna make you cum so many times-" He raises his brows when you shake your head 'no'

"Wanna-" you whine, "wanna cum on your cock."

"Please?" You add quickly, giving him the mastered doe-eyes. With the way his fingers sink into the flesh of your thighs, you know you're pushing him till he can't hold back anymore.

"Ah, fuck baby." You moan as his eyes roll back in his head. "How can I say no to you when you ask so nicely?"

You writhe under him as he rubs the swollen head on your pussy first, wetting the tip of his cock with your arousal as you nuzzle your face on his neck to get more of his scent, his skin muffling your moans when he lightly taps your clit.

"If it's too much," Shinsou holds you by the chin to make you look at him, your gaze half-lidded, mouth agape, you looked fucked dumb already. "what were you going to say?"

"Band-bandaids." You half-moan, half speak. Satisfied with the answer, Shinsou can't wait any longer as he's finally pushing himself in you, your cunt pulsing around him-

fuck- so warm, so wet, so soft-

"Holy fuck!" A guttural groan rips from his chest as he feels your strained walls pulse and flutter around him, trying to adjust to his size as he hears your needy cries right next to his ear. It has him losing his mind; Shinsou angles his hips just enough to have you screaming his name, and the feeling of his cock dragging against your pussy, heavy and hot in you, is enough to have you teetering on the edge already.

"'s big!" You whine into his neck, body convulsing with each drag of his cock in you. "So big- you're so big, makes me feel so full." You gasp, unaware of how you bring your hand to your stomach, pressing on the bulge that appears when he pushes in you.

You look so mindlessly fucked out; with your face twisted in pleasure, mouth fallen slack and drool pooling in the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back in your skull as he plunges in and out of you.

"Shinsou- Shinsou, ah, fuck!" You babble, nails digging in his arms to leave angry red crescents. So lost in the pleasure, you're not exactly aware of Shinsou's hands roaming around your face, cupping your jaw, caressing your cheeks, pushing back stray hairs. So cute, so vulnerable for him- he can't wait to make your face wet with tears.

"I'm gonna- I- I'm gonna cum!" You moan, but he knows this already, by the way your back arching off the bed with each deep thrust of his hips, by your pussy clenching even harder on his cock, your hands holding on to him like he's your lifeline.

In a heartbeat, just as you're sure the coil that's been growing in you is going to snap, just as you're about to fall into that bliss- he stops.

A broken sob follows his stillness, a cry ripping itself off your chest at the feeling that was just beyond reach. "Why?" You whine into his chest, hips wiggling to try and feel the same as you did a second ago.

"Shh, it's okay," he coos, voice breathy, more uncollected than he tries to look, purple locks of hair submitting to gravity and falling down, hovering around his face like an indigo halo. "I'll let you come as many times as you want- if you beg."

He raises a brow at you when you squirm under his touch, clamping down on his cock when he growls in your ear, hot breath fanning on your neck. "Beg for it, pretty girl, beg for me to make you cum on my cock- such a hungry slut- beg and I'll give you whatever you want."

You look up at him teary-eyed, your body shaking like a leaf in hungry need, for release, for him, but your lips refuse to atone, your head shaking side to side as a sob leaves your throat.

You can't, you can't beg, but the feeling is irresistible.

"No?" Shinsou voices your silent rebel, and you think the shadows on his face just got a few tones darker.

"You think you have a choice?" His voice low and grave as you feel a pair of hands snake up your body and wrap around your neck, squeezing just the right amount to have your eyes widen with shock, pussy tighten with need but not so much that you're gasping for air. "Nothing but a filthy whore- look at me when I fuck you."

Another squeeze has your eyes rolling back in your head, his filthy words traveling right down to your weeping core. "Now beg."

This time, you don't miss a beat before obeying, pleas falling from your lips along with whimpers of his name, but it's not enough; that you can tell by the dissatisfied click of his tongue. "P-please, sir," you whisper, it makes him move, a hard thrust in your to show praise.

"P-please fuck me-" you add, trying to speak between his occasional deep thrusts, messing with your head. "Show me my- mmh, fuck!- my place!"

As soon as the words are out of your lips, Shinsou goes out of his mind as well. His eyes widen with how your words affect him, an electrifying warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach. "Show you your place?" He growls, and you cry out a moan when he starts thrusting in a ruthless pace, his grip on your neck now suddenly a tad tighter, black spots dancing around in your vision.

"Show you what a slut you are, is that it?"

You're not even comprehending the words he's spewing, the feeling of his cock filling you up has warm tears running down your cheeks, sobs mixed with moans filling the silence other than the sound of skin slapping skin and his low growls.

"Crying? What a little baby, can't even take a cock in you, huh? Then what are you even good for?" Just as he finishes his sentence, the tip of his cock grazes that sweet spot in you, making you cry out a louder sob. "Sh-shinsou, please!"

Hearing you sob out his name like that has his cock twitching in you, your legs wrapped around his waist, legs digging into the small of his back, your nails biting in his shoulders as if he's the only thing holding you up and sane, newer ones filling his skin with each thrust he gifts you. His lidded gaze focuses on your fucked out face, drooling as your mouth falls slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head, face wet with tears you're still shedding. His hand travels from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to look at him so he can lean forward and plant a wet kiss on your lips.

"Fuck yeah- look at you, pretty girl, crying because how good I'm fucking you, huh?"

You nod pathetically, knowing he's waiting for an answer, but a nod is all you can muster with how hazy your mind feels. "More, more- please sir, ah!" Your hands travel from his arms to his back, leaving red, angry stripes on his back as well; one of your hands find a purple lock of hair, taking it between your fingers and hanging on it as hard as you can-

"Ah, shit!" Shinsou shouts as he throws his head up in the air at the dull pain you give him, his cock twitching in you and making you cry out a moan. You're not even aware you're pulling his hair, not aware you're getting him so close to cumming, not aware of anything but his fat cock drilling in you.

"Shit! Baby don't- ah, don't do that or I'm-" He groans, thrusts getting harder, faster-

"You're gonna cum?" He growls in your ear as he feels you clamping harder on his cock, the feeling of you fluttering around him bringing him to your high with you. "Huh? Are you? Answer me." Shinsou's hand grips your hair, pulling it and exposing the skin of your neck for him, open and vulnerable for him to leave marks.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, the kisses he leaves on every sensitive part of your neck, the way his teeth graze and sometimes bite your skin- it's all too much, your body shaking and back arching, you're close- so, so close that-

"I'm cumming- sir, please, I-"

"Cum for me then." Shinsou orders, voice breathy and shaking with the pleasure he's swimming in.

All it takes is for him to lean for another kiss, his tongue sliding in your mouth, and you're falling off the sweet edge, cries getting louder and body shaking with a ripping orgasm, you're clamping down on his cock like crazy, like you won't ever let him go, your dainty hands in his hair and hanging on his locks without care and fuck-

"Give me one more, baby, one more-" Shinsou grunts in your ear, lips grazing the shell as his fingers rub vigorous circles on your clit, "I know you have it in you, come on."

"I- I can't-" You try to speak, but it's all too much, your mind foggy, the tip of your tongue lolling out. "You can," Shinsou growls, orders. "You can and you will."

It's not much after your body convulses with yet another orgasm, hanging on Shinsou as he keeps fucking into you, and you know he's close.

"Come in me!" Your voice cries out to the man; you have your arms thrown around his neck, pulling him to yourself, want to be closer, closer, closer- "Please- come in me! I want to feel you- ah!"

You gasp as he gives you few last pumps, overstimulation making you flinch. Shinsou comes with a groan, teeth sinking into the conjunction of your neck and shoulders and causing you to cry out in pleasure mixes with a tint of pain.

Your eyes are falling as he pulls you to himself, closing his arms around you and holding you against his chest. You stay like that for a while, both too tired to even ask each other how you're doing. He finally slips out of your abused cunt, standing up to glance at you worriedly when you wince. "Sorry."

"How are you feeling?" You hear him grumble as he shuffles through the drawers, wetting the clean towel he pulled out from there. When he comes back, you also notice the bottle of medicine he has in his hands.

"Here, take this." He gives you the medicine and a cup of water, leaning towards you hesitantly. "Should I?" He brings the towel towards the between of your legs, but still keeps a distance.

When you nod, his soft touch ushers your legs to part. He grimaces when you wince at the contact with the towel, even when his touch is so light, but you endure it.

"I should help you out with those." You mutter, half-embarrassed as you inspect the angry red lines adorning his back and arms. His chest is littered with lovebites and marks you don't even remember leaving, and he chuckles when he drops his gaze to look for himself, as well.

"It's okay; you should rest." He laughs. "I'll take care of it later."

You nod, but you still feel his gaze on you as you push yourself deeper in the sheets, mind swimming in thoughts of-

"What are you going to do now?" Shinsou voices, and you notice he's back in his boxers and a shirt, hair in a little more shape. You blink a few times, not knowing how to answer, not knowing the answer, hands fisting the sheets in tight balls.

"I first wanted to go find Aizawa." You shrug, rubbing your eyes. "Before I came here, I mean."

He huffs out a surprised laugh, glancing at you with his brows raised. "That's a first." He mutters. "What's the occasion?"

A smile sneaks its way on your lips as you give him an unfazed shrug. "You think I'll tell you? Maybe I'll let you hear what it is when you take me to him."

Shinsou stays still for a second or so, the predatory glint he had a few minutes ago appearing once again in his indigo eyes. "My silly little baby," You feel two of his fingers graze the underside of your chin, tilting your gaze to meet his. "I thought we already agreed that I can make you do anything I say." You feel his breath on your lips, leaning to close the gape.

"Or should I teach you one more time?"

[shootthemessenger]

her eyes and words are so icy, oh, but she burns [w.v.]

wilhemina venable x fem!reader

requested: the, usually ruthless, wilhemina has a soft spot for the reader [anonymous]

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, two brief instances of smut

The first time Wilhemina thought about marrying you:

Long before the apocalypse brought about the end of times, Wilhemina worked with two numb-skulls which she had spent a lot of her time complaining about while you spent your work days cleaning the messes politicians left behind in their wake of lies and manipulation.

You fumbled into the apartment that one night; hair messy and unkept from the pure frustration of the day, cheeks flushed in anger and slight embarrassment in yourself, and nearly falling over in your uncomfortable shoes.

Before even taking the chance to look at you, Wilhemina began to tease just as she did most days. “My, my, my; what do we have here?” She asked, face curling up into a wicked smile. That was, until she looked up from her book to meet the glassy look in your eyes rather than your usual smile. “Mina,” you whispered, your voice broken and low as if you didn’t know what else to do.

Without a second thought, she used her cane to push herself off the couch and shuffled quickly towards your side with her hand already reaching to cup your face in her gentle palm.

You practically collapsed into her arms as your work bag hit the floor with a hollow ‘thud’. Your hand clutched tightly at the thin purple dress that hung from her waist.

She wrapped her free hand around the back of your head and soothed the frizzied hair. “It’s okay, sweet girl.” She began to sway with you tucked tightly between her arms, holding you close to the hallow in her neck where she could feel your heavy breathing.

Her heart ached as she met your gaze once again, watching you wither underneath her and blink back the tears which persisted at pooling in your eyes.

She took your face between her hands and pressed her lips to yours softly before guiding you to sit on the couch she had been keeping warm as she waited for you to return home.

“Relax, kitten.” She lowered herself onto the floor in front of you, despite the discomfort in her spine, and began to unfasten the heels from your feet.

You watched her curiously as she kissed the base of your ankle with soft lips.

Then she moved up your calf, feeling the muscle flex underneath her gentle kiss and glanced up just in time to see your eyes flutter closed and head fall back against the couch.

When she reached your thighs she admired the way they instinctively parted for her, allowing her access to even the most intimate part of you despite sex being absent from her mind in that moment.

She looked up to meet you, admiring the soft features of your face under the light seeping in from the kitchen. “You’re so deliciously beautiful.” She mumbled against your skin before nipping playfully.

And as you blushed and giggled she thought, briefly but definitely there, what it would be like to have you like this every day for the rest of her life.

The second time Wilhemina thought about marrying you:

Wilhemina had officially moved into your apartment some months after that night and began to make the space something you could both share.

This way, you’d have everything you needed for your baking hobby without worrying about the availability of ingredients or appliances at her apartment. And she’d have all of her books without having to remember to bring the ones she was working through to your apartment.

But neither of your minds were focused on baking or books in that moment as Wilhemina’s hand tightened around the locks of your hair that she had fisted roughly.

Moans poured from deep within her heaving chest as she fell apart underneath you, mumbling your name between desperate gasps for air.

She did her best to praise you through shuttering breaths and twitching limbs. A single, strangled ‘such a good girl’ fell from her parted lips.

You looked up at her from your place between her thighs, watching as her eyes fell open and glistened with something soft. Her lips broke out in a smile and she beckoned you to kiss her by guiding you with the, newly-gentle, hand in your hair.

She shuddered as you kissed your way up her abdomen, deliberately paying more attention to the skin around her sensitive nipples.

When you finally leveled your faces, she held yours between her two hands and let her lips tangle with yours in a frenzy of appreciative passion. “So good for me, kitten.” She let her hand fall between your legs before you grabbed her wrist.

“No baby, tonight was all about you, Ms. Venable.” Your tongue poked out between your teeth teasingly as you addressed her so formally and she glanced down your body as you moved to cuddle into her side.

She nearly wanted to cry. Sex with you didn’t make her feel dirty like it had with others. In fact, she felt empowered, freed by the vulnerability of it all.

It felt so nice for someone she trusted to have control over her body.

She could have savored that feeling for the rest of her life and she imagined that’s what it would have felt like to be married to you.

The time Wilhemina didn’t get to marry you:

With all such time to panic and little time to prepare, Wilhemina found quickly that she had been fatally unprepared.

It had been such a long time since she had cared for someone in the way she had you and it caused her to forget to take into account how she was going to keep you safe once the apocalypse actually did render the world unbearable.

So when she had lost you in the balze of explosion and fiery heat, it hardened her; forced her into a cold, dark spiral that she only continued to sink into with each passing day.

She banned everything that had once brought her joy with you; sex, love, she even frowned upon the friendships the survivors were beginning to take up couped inside the outpost.

And then there was that one night, just as dinner come to its conclusion and the survivors shuffled off to their respective rooms.

“Only a matter of time.” She listens to Mariam mumble beside her as they watched the survivors disperse. She let a crooked smile twitch against her lips, “In due time, they’ll enjoy their sweet apples tomorrow night and we’ll enjoy shelter from the nuclear storm around us before anyone even knows what happened.”

She watched the shorter woman shuffle into the direction of her room and dismissed the remaining few with her cane.

She began her short journey down the corridor, listening closely for sun commotion from any particular room just as she did every night.

All was still and silent, she presumed that most were bubbling with excitement for the only bit of fun they were getting to have since the world had withered away.

When she reached her bedroom, the tension inside was uneasy. She figured it was only her nerves at the risk she was about to take with the lives of the survivors.

Her cane echoed through the still room as she eased herself into the chair at the foot of her bed. Despite her confidence around the outpost, her back was beginning to ache and her feet were an even worse story.

Without warning, Wilhemina felt the cold end of a blade pressing against her throat, an arm hooked around her neck. She froze under the pressure, letting the smallest gasp escape from her parted lips.

“Don’t. Move.” The voice behind her ear was sharp and demanding, even without the knife pressed into her skin she probably would have obeyed. “You make a sound and I will slit your throat before anyone even has the chance to hear you, do you understand me?”

Wilhemina ghosted a nod, feeling the blade press further into her delicate flesh.

“Now you’re going to stand up and turn around. Slowly.” The force behind the blade loosened and Wilhemina shook slightly as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Turn.” The voice instructed and Wilhemina could feel the presence of the knife at her back. She slowly moved around, facing the source of the voice.

A black cloak covered the figure in front of her. Everything was covered but a set of eyes which were wide with shock. Wilhemina furrowed her eyebrows at the sudden weakness of the presence.

She didn’t dare move, though, closely watching the knife pressed into her torso. But the stranger did not move the knife into her skin, instead they reached up and began to unwrap the cloth around their face.

Slowly, you revealed yourself to the older woman as the pieces of your face began to click together with the memories in her head.

“Y/n...” Her voice was nearly too quiet to be a whisper but still you nodded, not daring to move towards or away from her. Her eyes softened as she examined your face, looking for anything to indicate she was dreaming or hallucinating even.

But as her palm pressed against your cheek she gasp softly as the feeling of your flesh which fit just as perfectly into her hand as it always had.

“Oh, kitten.” She exclaimed, pulling you into her tightly as you nearly collapsed against her body. “Wilhemina.” You mumbled into her shoulder, holding her back just as tightly.

The time Wilhemina decided to marry you:

Wilhemina watched over the edge of her book as your head nestled against her thighs. One hand played with the delicate skin of your ear as the other held her book just above your head.

She watched the fire bathe you in a warm glow and fought the smile twitching at her tired lips. “Darling,” she hummed for your attention and set her book onto the bed.

Your head shifted in her lap until you were looking up at her, “Mina.” You answered, toying with the lace on her nightgown. She watched your fingers move around the fabric then let her eyes flicker to your face which looked up at her expectantly.

“I want to marry you.” She couldn’t stop herself from blurting it out, the thought pushing at the edge of her brain and rolling itself off the tip of her tongue.

Your face broke out in shock and she tensed, god fucking dammit. And then your eyes relaxed, a smile found its way onto your face. “I want to marry you too.” You assured her, sitting with your arm anchored over her lap.

She chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to yours lips. “I can’t wait.”

The time Wilhemina actually married you, in her own twisted way:

It was becoming impossible for Wilhemina to decide how she was going to marry you when there were no churches or priests or even courts for that matter. You had assured her that eventually the two of you would settle on something but there was no rush for now.

Wilhemina didn’t know what had come over her that same night - watching you drown in the soft satin sheets of her bed, wearing nothing more than your own naked skin - forced a hunger to bubble inside her chest.

She had only been detached from your lips long enough to unzip her dress and let it pool at her ankles but, still, she was aching to touch you again.

She lunged forward, capturing your lips between her own. It wasn’t soft like usual, it was hungry and needy; a chaotic frenzy of clashing teeth and bumping tongues.

She breathed against your face, inhaling sharply as her nails dug into the skin on your hips and pinned you against the matress.

There was something about the way you whimpered and squirmed underneath her that only fueled her on even more. She was feeling a want in her stomach that was unlike any other time she had taken you.

Sure, she had used sex with you as an outlet for her anger after a particularly bad day at work on many occasions and had gotten just as worked up. But this was different; there were no punishments or teasing. There wasn’t even talking between the two of you; no praising or filthy compliments falling from her lips.

She was only focusing on one thing; ruining you. Forcing you to fall apart over and over again underneath her, at her complete will.

When she finally did pause, with her head settled between your thighs and dangerously close to your heat, she took a second to meet your desperate eyes.

With the fire across the room reflecting in your eyes and bathing you in a soft orange glow, she couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips. It startled even herself.

Without spending much time thinking about it, she reached down and pulled one of the thick rings off her finger, using her mouth to suck a bruise onto the inside of your thigh.

Blindly, as she moved to your other thigh, she found your left hand and slipped the ring onto your ring finger. “I do.” She announced, a wicked smile on her lips before she leaned forward and delved between your folds with her tongue.

Taglist: @mssallymckenna , @proudnlittle , @coxmicbabygirl , @sapphicpaulsxn , @its-soph-xx , @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k , @paulsonix , @madamevirgo , @saucy-sapphic , @kikaykimkim , @billiedeansbottom , @d14n4ol

[sirowsky]

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Comment: Since this chapter is seen from Marcus’ point of view, it is not written in first person. Subsequent chapters will be.

Warnings: Descriptions of severe physical illness.

Link to Masterlist

Chapter 2

  “Something’s happening at the hospital downtown. Sensors are detecting massive power-fluctuations.”

  Marcus Moreno was standing in the control centre when the analyst sounded the alarm.

  “Is it a super?”

  “Unclear, sir. The system doesn’t recognise the signature.”

  Well, that was never a good sign. He walked over to the analyst to look over her shoulder at the data that was coming through.

  “That’s… weird.”

  “Weird… that’s all you got, hijo?”

  “Mom, don’t start with me.”

  “I’m just saying that ‘weird’ isn’t much of a description, that’s all.”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to tell you. It’s a weird signature. How am I supposed to know any more than that until I’ve actually investigated it?”

  “Okay, so stop staring at the screen, and go investigate.”

  Ten minutes later he’d managed to wrangle Miracle Guy, Invisi Girl and Tech-No to go with him and investigate. They chose to fly to avoid traffic (and because Miracle wouldn’t be caught dead in a car, what would that do to his image?!), and landed on the hospitals heli-pad minutes later.   Every light in and around the entire building was blinking and flickering like crazy, sometimes going completely dark for several seconds at a time, and then coming back to life only to shine way too brightly all of a sudden.   Even before they landed, Marcus could feel the vibrations of the power-fluctuations as they disturbed his electro-magnetic abilities. Whatever this was, he had a feeling it was gonna be worse than they had thought.   Once inside, they made their way through the floors and corridors, led by Marcus since he could sense whenever he was getting closer to the source, and before long, they found it.   Or rather, her.

  “Wait, this can’t be right… I thought you said that the signature suggested it wasn’t a super?”

  “I said it was inconclusive, Miracle, as in: I don’t know what the hell it is. Tech, are your instruments getting anything useful?”

  “Not really. It’s the same signature, and it’s growing in intensity, but that’s about it.”

  “She looks… like she’s dying…”

  Invisi Girl was right. He had never seen a human being look so life-less and yet still breathe. She was as grey as a corpse, with a hint of purple in her skin, visible veins and deep circles under her eyes. Her lips and nails were turning purple as well, and she looked as though her skin was hugging her bones.   A doctor hurried towards them as they assembled around her bed.

  “Mr. Moreno, sir, what’s your interest in this patient?”

  “Doctor, this woman is the reason why you’re having power-fluctuations.”

  “She’s a super? No, that can’t be, none of the tests we’ve performed suggested anything of the sort.”

  “I don’t know what she is, but she’s definitely causing this. We’re gonna need to take her with us, for the sake of the safety of your other patients.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “How long has she been here?”

  “She came walking in on her own about two hours ago. She was in bad shape, vomiting and convulsing randomly. She’s been thoroughly examined but we’ve yet to find a probable cause for her symptoms, and she’s deteriorated significantly just in the short time she’s been here.”

  Marcus moved to the side of the bed to look closer at her. The machines that she was hooked up to told him that her pulse was racing at a staggering 197 bpm, while her blood-pressure was low, and she was struggling to maintain oxygen saturation, despite having an oxygen mask on.   Without really thinking about it, he brushed his fingers over the top of her hand, and she opened her eyes. He wouldn’t have thought that she had enough strength for that, but she did, and she turned her head slightly so that she could look at him. When her eyes found his, a knot instantly formed inside his chest, because the pain in those eyes was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Even though no sound escaped ger, she was begging. To be saved… or to be put out of her misery.   Then, through the connection of their skin, he felt the energy coming from her shift, and her eyes closed again as fresh tears spilled down the sides of her face. It was the energy that was killing her, torturing her along the way.

  “You’re right, doctor, she’s not a super. This isn’t an ability, someone did this to her.”

  “What…? But, there’s nothing in the world that can do this to a human being this quickly.”

  “Nothing we know of.”

  “Hey, Moreno, you sure about this?”

  He was about to answer Miracle when he felt the energy shift again, and every ounce of electricity in the whole building died in an instant. Including the back-up generators.

  “We’re out of time. Miracle, get her out of here and back to HQ asap. Invisi, go after him, make sure he doesn’t take any scenic routes. Tech, you stay here with me, we need to restore the power.”

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

The Forgotten - Part Six Return of the Nerd

Full story here

SMUT FO SHO MY BITCHES, CAUSE THATS HOW I DO!

Despite her failing protests Michelangelo personally escorted Aurora from the compound. She really had no choice in the matter, if she tried to fight him, she would attract unwanted attention and she’d be found out. Thankfully, Mikey didn’t seem too keen on bringing her to Bishop, he actually looked a little nervous as his eyes moved about the hallway seeming to keep her from full view of all cameras. But she had gotten what she wanted, confirmation of Bishop’s base, the one they had been searching for, for years. This was a good thing; it was a win in her eyes.

He walked her through the main gate making sure to keep his massive frame in front of the cameras and guards to shield her presence. This was all so surreal; so much had changed in the last few months. They went from trying to end her life to being unable to control their hormones like horny teenagers but still wary of her motives. She’d take it.

 As they came to the edge of the compound’s boundaries Mikey stopped turning to look at the kunoichi. His large mitt palmed the side of Aurora’s throat before running up to cup her cheek. His rough thumb drug over her bottom lip and he let out a soft sigh which by the sudden bunch of his shoulder muscles was unexpected. His eyes scanned over her face and a look of contentment flash over his baby blues but morphed to concern. “Leo said you told him there’s something inside of us, all of us. What is it?”

 Taking a deep breath, she let it out ready to give him some answers his overactive brain was so desperately in need of, “It looks like a tiny metal octopus, like smaller than an eraser head. It constantly moves so it’s difficult to locate inside the body and why we weren’t able to figure out how he’s been controlling you all. We only found out recently and by pure accident. If only we had Donnie…..”

 “Donnie?”

 Closing her eyes momentarily Aurora let out a heavy sigh and she looked up into his baby blues, “He’s your brother. He went missing almost four years ago, a year before you, Leo and Raph were taken.” Another deep breath, but she decided to keep the new formation of Donnie trying to return from him. If he was lying, which he had always been a horrible liar but just in case he grew some new skills since he was reprogramed Aurora kept that little nugget of info close to her chest.  

 Mikey cocked his head rubbing the back of head, she could see him wince a little and his eyes fog over. “He’s a genius….purple.”

 “Yeah, you’re right….Mike did that hurt you to think of that?”

 “It felt like someone was trying to drill into the back of my skull. Fuckin burns man.”

 Aurora moved quickly around to the back of the terrapin and pressed her palm to the back of his bald crown. There, she fucking felt it, the flutter of something under his flesh caught between his skull and his scalp. She reached for his hand and yanked it back to replace hers. “There! Do you feel it?!”

 It took him a few seconds to feel the movement but when he did Mikey’s body jolted with surprise. “What the hell? Fuck!” His fingers cupped it trying to grab at it. “There is something in me! Cut it out! Jesus get it out!”

 “I-I can’t Mike, that’s your skull, that’s a little more important than your shin or arm. It could get infected I don’t want to lose you to something as stupid as that. Besides its dark and I have nothing to grab it. My fingers would be covered in blood and that thing would slip free.”

 “Fuck, it’s gone.” He began to touch his skin trying to find it again.

 “The skull maybe blocks the transmission a little? I’ve seen your x-rays; you guys have thick skulls. Maybe the mutagen? I don’t know…..” Slowly she took his hand in hers pulling them to her cheeks, the gesture stopped his frenzy. “Why didn’t you turn me into Bishop? I was at your mercy and you didn’t give me over to him. You could have easily done so?”

 “Your eyes.” He cupped her cheeks and locked eyes, “They’re the windows to the soul. The first time we ‘met’ I could see the sadness and the happiness all at the same time. You were legit happy to see us and then it morphed to sadness then terrified. If we had never met before, which we were meant to believe, I would have expected you to be terrified, which is what most people experience when they first see us. But you were happy, relieved even. Fuck, you even knew our god damn names. Like, I was shooketh!  When we got back to base and I confronted Bishop. Bishop told me you were a kunoichi, you were a seductress using your womanly wiles to make us doubt the mission and must have gotten our names from a captured soldier. But your emotions were genuine, so I had trouble brushing it off. Then Raph had his little meet and great with you. You didn’t try to take him, just trying to talk. And then Leo, you could have easily killed him after you sent him to dream land…..awesome job by the way…..but you let him fucking go. What kind of enemy lets their enemies go? You didn’t hurt either of them. When I saw you in the hallway and the way you looked at me when I pulled you into that room, I could see happiness again. No one is happy to see us, not even Bishop. Right now, I can see love.”

 Aurora could see tears begin to form at the corner of his eyes and her body responded following suit. “You were always so intuitive Mikey. I do, I love you, I love all of you. I miss you so much. I wish I could take you home with me.”

 “I know, I know not until you get this slippery little fucker out of us. Plus, I need to stay here and make sure my bros are ok. He cut up Raph to punish Leo for not fulfilling the mission last night.”

 “He did what?! That’s Raph’s blood on your hands?! …..Mission?”

 “Calm down he’s fine, nothing life threatening. Leo was supposed to get loose and tell us where you were, but he never reported in. I guess Leo found something a little more entertaining.” He chuckled half heartily. “I don’t blame him…”

 “Speaking of, how are you doing down there champ?”

 “Blue balls for sure, but I’ll be fine nothing I can’t take care of in a little bit. If it wasn’t for all the security a few hundred feet away I’d have that pretty little pussy of yours stretched over this cock until you were hoarse from screaming my name.”

 Heat flushed her checks and felt the warmth of new arousal bloom in her abdomen at the thought. “I’d let you too. But I need to get out of here before they get suspicious. I mean when you came down that hallway you looked determined.  Where were you heading?”

 Mikey’s eyes widened, “Fuck! I was going to get more bandages! I gotta go! I’ll see you soon Blondie!” and just like that he was gone, running towards the base at top speed. As he reached the main yard he began weaving around and jumping over bodies until he was a speck entering back into the compound.

 It took Aurora less time to head back to her bike still being careful of motion detectors, she took to the streets and as she was a good distance away, she slowed her bike to a stop and pressed the com in her ear.

 “White skull to base.”

 It took a few minutes, but the familiar voice of Casey came over the com his mouth apparently filled with food. “This is Base, go ahead White Skull.”

 “We have confirmation. Disneyland has been located.”

  She didn’t go home right away, the talk of Donnie made Aurora take a detour to the lair. She informed Casey of her next stop and made her way below the streets. Everything was how she left it, dark and empty. Lights began to flicker on illuminating the large space; she moved to the kitchen pulling out a water and cracked it open downing the entire contents in one motion. She moved slowly eyeing the closed door to Donnie’s lab and decided that was where she wanted to be.

 The door opened without a sound and she slipped inside keeping the arch in view. She willed it to come alive with power, to give her back Donnie. As she reached the piece of vexing machinery her fingers ran over the smooth edges finding them surprisingly warm. The lair was naturally cool due to the depth it laid so for the metal to be warm was odd. She moved to the controls and looked for any activity, lights coming alive under the key of the board, a flickering on the screen indicating any type of activity? Anything……anything of Donnie……

 Minutes turned to hours, but she remained glued to her spot. Something in her gut told her to stay, not to leave the lair, not yet. Swiveling in his specially designed chair Aurora picked up a small device on Donatello’s desk and spun it around in her hands. It was glass, a cube to be exact, the reflective qualities were gorgeous, a prism effect. It was a light he had been working on, powered by the warmth from one’s hands. It only took a few moments for the cube to begin to flicker with the variety of colors of a rainbow. The longer she held it the brighter it got. When it reached the desired brightness, she placed it back on his work bench and stared into the shifting hues.

 He had yet to perfect the device, it only held the charge for an hour or two, but he was certain he was about to have a breakthrough with the conversion of power. Something with the helix bonds or whatever. She knew he’d get it; she just didn’t think it would take this long.

 She began to doze mesmerized by the lit cube. Her eyes half closed unfocused on anything she was suddenly aware the light was getting brighter? Did he fix something about it before he disappeared? Blinking her eyes rapidly she focused on the cube finding it like how it should be, dulling with time. Then what was that bright light?

 The sounds of electricity crackling began to rise in volume in his lab along with the pulsing of light she had mistaken from the cube. The source now tore her gaze from Donnie’s work bench to the very much active arch. The light grew in intensity nearly blinding her as Aurora stood from her seat. She shielded her eyes with her arms and watched the arch snap and flicker with power.

 A circle began to open within its circumference swirling between a greyish color and a bright blue. Then it started to fluctuate, and a figure began to form inside the growing vortex. The lines were fuzzy keeping the picture unclear, but her heart jumped and clenched with anxiousness at the forming figure. It had to be, it just had to be.

 Without warning a burst of energy blew from the vortex sending Aurora back with its unexpected force. She toppled over his chair and into a stack of computer parts scattering them across the floor and Aurora on her ass. She quickly got to her feet and found the arc now stable giving her a perfect view of the genius. There was no flickering now, no waves of misaligns data, just a clear as day view of Donatello and it was glorious.

 With unsure steps she made her way around the new mess on the lab floor but kept every sense, every ounce of her concentration on the tall missing terrapin staring back at her through the newly working portal.

 She didn’t know when she had started crying but her cheeks were soaked and her voice unsure, but she called out, “D-Don?”

 Donnie face broke out into an exuberant smile and he reached down for what looked like a bag and hoisted it over his broad shoulder. His left leg rose and slipped through the portal falling onto the cement floor of his lab and the rest of his body followed suit until he was living, breathing, real flesh and bone standing a few excruciating feet away from the trembling woman.

 His tall frame was dressed in new clothes, his legs covered in properly fitted grey slacks with expensive looking custom black boots on his massive feet, old gadgets were gone replaced with smaller fancier items. His backpack was missing but his goggles remained but looked to have gotten a major upgrade. She could see his bo was still there also looking newer. Gone were his broken turtle glasses replaced with black rimed frames that better fit his face making the nerd look more sophisticated. Did he look bigger? The clothes were throwing her off. Where the fuck has he been? The words were on her lips, but she couldn’t move, all her screaming muscles cried out to touch him but she was paralyzed by shock. Four years, it had been, four years since she had seen him in the flesh.  

 The heavy leather duffle was set down and Donatello looked her up and down and he let out a long, very happy shuttering sigh. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

 His voice finally broke her from her paralysis, and she stormed forward leaping into his arms praying she wasn’t hallucinating but the solid body that caught her was very much there and very much real. He was home.

 Her hands ran over him just to make sure, up and down his arms, over his neck to the top of his muscled shoulders. Her fingers worked the first few buttons free and felt the familiar scars and gouges of his chest nearly sobbing at the realization of his return.

 “You’re here, you’re really here!”

 “I am, god, it took so long but I’m here.” His finger hooked under her chin so their eyes locked. Purple and brown both flooded with happy tears. “I’ve missed you.” His lips found hers, soft at first growing with enthusiasm as Aurora responded with vigor.

 As their mouths engaged and reengaged in desperate collisions Aurora began to finish stripping the genius of his fancy shirt. Her fingers pulled the fabric from his shoulders, down his arms until he was free. To her delight she was right; Donatello had been working on his fitness while he had been stripped from his family. Donnie had been no weakling by any means, the purple banned terrapin could easily crush a skull with his bare hands but he had bulked up in his time away.  Eager fingers ran along the ridges of the solid definition squeezing hard with appreciation.

 Their mouths broke free pulling in gulps of air and Aurora’s moved to his chiseled jaw line nipping at the scales until he was panting.

 “Don” she mewled between open mouth kisses down his long throat, “Donnie……D……Donatello.” The more she moaned his name the louder he crooned until he reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it free of her body in one fluid motion.

 “Aurora.” He moaned cupping one breast with his free hand. Gently he squeezed and rolled the fabric over the mound finding the bud beneath peek quickly. His finger caught the bra and pulled it down releasing a breast to his gaze. With a heave Donnie lifted her higher so his mouth could cover the hot flesh sucking and nipping until her could feel the fabric of her pants dampen with her arousal against his plastron. “God, you smell divine. I want to taste you but I don’t think I can wait.”

 There was so much to discuss, so much he didn’t know about. Donnie had no idea his brothers were no longer with the resistance and under Bishop’s control but he looked so happy in this moment and truth was so was Aurora. She would wait to break his heart, they would take this moment, they both needed it. It was a happy reunion and she was sure there would be more now with Donnie back.  Gripping his cheeks she ground against him, “Then don’t.”

 Donatello wasted no time and brought her over to his abandoned desk shoving everything from its surface. He dropped her down and yanked her boots and pants free of her body to begin fumbling with his belt. Aurora’s hands pushed them from the buckle and worked them free with trained ease. The button and zipper were next, teeth opening quickly but making sure not to harm the precious cargo beneath. When the massive erection sprung free of its confines Aurora’s hands were quick to gather the throbbing flesh in both palms.

 The connection with hot flesh against her expert hands made Donnie groan in bliss. His hips shifted making his cock slide through her fingers and she gripped it firmly getting a shuttering sigh from the genius. Her finger found the dripping helm gathering the moister and ran the pad of her finger down the underside of his length staying with the pulsing vein. A hiss pulled through clenched teeth followed by a throaty call of her name. Aurora leaned back spreading her thighs giving him full view of her soaked folds.

 His eyes blew wide at the sight and leaned forward grabbing her right thigh hoisting it up over his shoulder while pressing her back on the cold table. Reaching between them Donatello palmed his length running the spongy head through her folds drenching himself in her scent and essence. Donnie rumbled low closing his eyes to push the head of his cock just past her opening. He stilled at the tightness and the sound of Aurora’s hitch in breath. Rocking slightly he sheathed himself an inch before withdrawing nearly pulling free of her body.

 “D-Donnie….please”

His eye opened looking down at his kunoichi, her face was beautifully flushed, chest heaving and her lips parted with rough breaths. Still only one breast freed from it fabric prison Donnie reached down to free the other. His large hands covered both mounds and the mutant eased more of himself into her, slowly, until every last inch of him was engulfed in the sweet wet heat of Aurora.  

 Both let out a shaky sign at their long past due union and Donnie leaned down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. He pushed forward again and the pressure of his girth and length made the woman beneath him mewl, arching and twisting to get him to move.

 “Patience Rora, it’s been far too long since I’ve had you.” Slow and deliberate he began to withdrawal tilting himself so he would drag across the roof of her canal. “…far too long.” Reluctantly his hands left her reddened breasts and moved to her hips snapping his own forward with deliberate intention of making Aurora more vocal. He was rewarded pleasantly when her head snapped back at the sudden reentry and a whimpering moan of his name erupted from her throat. It encouraged the deprived terrapin further and Donnie repeated the process at an agonizingly slow pace until she was pleading with him to fuck her.  

 Aurora reached up to grab the rim of the genius’s plastron and she pulled him down, her mouth finding his hungrily.  Lips parted, tongues wound together and the long lost familiar taste of the genius invaded Aurora’s senses like a barreling freight train. It came and she sobbed into his mouth but didn’t’ break the dance.

 The pained sound didn’t startle Donnie but he did pull her closer removing all space that was between them. “I’m sorry.” He pleaded between each drive of his hips. “I’m so sorry.” With each breathless apology his rhythm picked up rutting into the kunoichi with fevered abandon.

 His mouth disconnected with hers traveling down to her throat nipping and sucking making sure to leave marks. It had been years since he had seen his own brand on her skin and he was determined to leave enough so each time she looked in the mirror these next few days he would be the only thing on her mind.  

 Aurora rocked into each plunge of his length whimpering with each strike into her depths. This was so much different than the other day. When she had Leo it was him physically but Leo wasn’t there mentally; he was in his head locked away but not present in the act, maybe to some extent but she couldn’t be sure just yet.

 Donatello was here, all of him; mind body and soul and it made the reunion much more intense. As he drove her to the precipice her hands groped at the dense muscles of his arms dragging him back into her. She was desperate for every inch of him, every drop she was prepared to receive.

 She could feel it, the beginnings of her peek. It started slow like an over flowing sink, the tingling sensation of her climax rolled in her cunt moving to the stretched lips of her labia swallowing his pumping cock.

 Donnie growled feeling her walls started flutter around him, “Are you going to cum for me? I’ve been dre-ahh-aming of his moment for almost five years now. How many times I’ve imagined you under me to give myself a little piece.” His hips picked up in speed to help her along chasing his own in the process. “Cum.” He demanded. “Cum for Donnie.”

 With his command it rolled up her belly and spread like wild fire as Aurora toppled over her peek. Her climax overtook her body tensing, arching into him and she screamed. Open mouthed echoing into the once vacant room she came undone around him.

 “F-f-uck, so tight…..I’m gonna…….” One, two, three more pistons of his hips and Donatello drove forward one last time anchoring himself as far as her body would allow. His beak nudged Aurora’s head to the side to expose her throat and his teeth latched onto the slender column to hold his lover steady as he gave her his release. His cock pulsated painfully and finally erupted with rich ropes of his ejaculate flooding her insides. With each ebbing flow of his climax Donnie rocked into her body with small shallow movements until every drop of his seed was deposited into her womb.

 It took a few minutes for both to calm down, clinging to each other unwilling to disconnect just yet. He was still seated within her as her fingers ran along the top of his shell in slow soothing motions.  She didn’t want to move, she just wanted to enjoy being close to Donnie, he was back, real. His smell was soothing, and his slowing heart beat that thudded against his plastron would easily lull her to sleep. But now it was time for questions, time for answers and he needed to know about his brothers.

 Aurora’s fingers moved to his skull and moved along the back to run down the base of his spin that transitioned into his carapace. He shuttered at the sensation and finally leaned up to look her in the eyes.  

 “Hi.” He whispered ghosting his lips over hers.

 “Hey yourself, nerd.”

 His brown eyes moved over Aurora’s flushed features taking her in, really looking her over for the first time in four years. He could she was happy, and sated for that matter but there as something else in those violet eyes. Then it hit him, they usually moved in pairs, one of his brothers should have been in her company. “Why are you here alone? Are they at the base?”

 She knew who Don was referring too and shifted under him. “Don…there is something I need to tell you.”

 Donnie’s lazy smile lowered his afterglow forgotten. Slowly he pulled from Aurora’s depths and helped her from the table. His lips pressed in a thin line. “No, please don’t tell me……..they’re…….”

 Aurora quickly grabbed for his face not wanting him to finish the sentence. “No! No, they’re not.” She watched his tense body relax at the knowledge his brothers were not dead. “But…they fell under Bishop’s control. Over three years ago Bishop set up an elaborate plan to capture them, you as well if you were with us. He tricked us with false information from a faulty lead and trapped them in an electrified cage. We weren’t able to get to them in time before he stole them away. We barely made it out with our lives as it was. It broke me, broke us, I don’t think the resistance ever fully recovered from the loss of you all. Casey and I ran into them a few months ago for the first time since losing them after trying to confiscate a tech truck that they were overseeing. Leo…Leo nearly killed me. They didn’t know who I was.” Her finger ran over the scar on her abdomen. “But that meeting triggered something in them. All three of them were then drawn to me; I’ve had rather intense interactions with each of them since then.”

 She watched the emotions run across his face; confusion, anger, sadness and finally acceptance. “We’ll get them back. I promise I’ll work day and night to continue my work on how he’s controlling them. We’ll find them, bring them home, I didn’t work my ass off for four years and across several dimensions to not see my brothers again.”

 “That’s the other thing Don, we found it.”

 “Found it?” He parroted tilting his head in confusion.  

 “What Bishop puts in his victims to control them. It’s back at the base at R & D for analysis. It looks like a tiny octopus. We just need to figure out the ‘how’ now, and cut the communication and…. fuck…. we found Bishop’s allusive base tonight too.”

 Donnie cupped her checks and pressed another life stealing kiss to her mouth. With a pop he pulled away with a toothy grin. “You have been rather successful without us.”

 Eyes closed she savored his taste licking her lips, he still drank coffee. They had that where he was? “It took us a bit but you came back just in time to give us a win.” Then her violet eyes snapped open and her palm pressed against his chest applying pressure until the mutant fell into his computer chair with a grunt. She then climbed back on top the genius’s lap and gripped the sides of his plastron looking him square in the eyes. “Now genius…..spill it, where the FUCK have you been?”

 His hands went back to her hips and let out a sigh, “That night when I disappeared I had an epiphany; I came down here with an idea that this thing could help us.” His long arm gestured to his most recent ride home and returned to her lower back to rub the pads of his fingers along her still exposed flesh.  “I was working to use it to access different dimensions….eventually: the nexus, new worlds but what if I used it for a simpler purpose? Move our soldiers from base to a target location to utilize the element of surprise? It would lower the chances of casualties by 30%. I was just going do a test honestly but I must have hit the wrong the button and found myself sucked into the arch and in a new world a very strange new world.”

 “How strange?”

 “Like another version of my brothers and I strange.”

 Aurora’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “More mutant turtles? Like you? Are you fucking kidding me?”

 “Yes I know, it was rather a large shock for me let me tell you. I dropped right into their lair right on top of another Michelangelo. They looked a little different than us, shorter, no clothes besides leather obi’s, knee and elbow pads. Younger versions with their Master splinter still alive, same dynamic though, with Leonardo still as leader. Their Donnie was brilliant; making miraculous things with trash, a very resourceful terrapin in deed. He had made a battle shell, a shell sub and a sewer slider, plus others. Anyways, naturally they were rather distressed seeing my tall ass drop in on them in their home unannounced. After a few hours of telling them my story, and talking about my own brothers and their similarities, Donnie and his brothers agreed to help me get home.  As you can see it took longer than we thought it would, finding the right components and a power source had proved more challenging than anticipated. Then finding the right coordinates proved another hurdle to overcome. I got here on accident so it was trial and error until I saw you the other day through the portal. It was the most glorious sight I had ever seen but the power course failed under the strain, which is why I couldn’t come through. We needed to reinforce it to support the transdimensional pull from the other dimensions trying to break through.  After we fixed that problem and your face appeared clear as day on the other side I knew we had gotten it right.”

 She looked at him absentmindedly running her palms over his exposed biceps, another dimension with more mutant turtle brothers? How many more she wondered quickly before shaking herself from the thought. “Did they have their own Bishop?”

 “Yes, actually they do, and strangely enough as Donnie and I were working one night he confessed his own trip to another dimension or terrible future, he wasn’t sure. It was around our timeline and age; I guess their Donnie had disappeared without a trace as well. Mikey had lost an arm, Raph his eye and Leo his entire eye sight. Casey had passed and the villain was shredder. He had enslaved the entire world killing master Splinter in the process which threw a massive wedge between Leo and Raphael, a very violent wedge that kept them apart for years.”

 “Fuck….I…”

 “There’s more…… they managed to defeat Shredder with Donnie’s help but Leo, Raph and Mikey perished in the fight. It happened years ago and it still gives him nightmares. It would me too, watching my brothers die right in front of me. I don’t think I’d ever recover.” Wiping away a stray tear Donatello gripped her body tighter remembering she had to witness them all ripped from her.  “All these years you had no idea what happened to me and then you lose the rest of them. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t get back sooner. I promise we’ll get them back.”

 She could see the anxiety rise in the genius as he began to process everything. How similar the scenarios were for both worlds and after everything he was still without most of his family. “Deep breaths Donnie, I need you level headed when we head back to base. I know we’ll get them back now that you’re back home. There’s a lot of work to be done and April and Casey are gonna be over the moon to see you. I’m so happy to see you.”

 She was about to remover herself from his lap when she felt the head of his cock nudge against her entrance and soon found herself stuffed full of her genius once again. Donnie took Aurora two more times before he relinquished his hold on her and allowed her to dress.

 Pulling her back into his embrace after watching Aurora tie her katana back to her hip Don pressed a few open mouthed kisses to her throat. “I’m sorry, I have four years of pent up need for you to work through. You’re not going to walk right for a week after I’ve had my fill.”

 His voice dropped at the delicious threat making her shiver at his continued advances and lean into his plastron. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 The run back to base was pleasant with Donatello right by her side. His long legs made him naturally faster which pushed her harder to keep up with the lanky turtle but the occasionally view of his perfectly round cheeks wasn’t a bad thing either. She couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into them later tonight.

 “White skull to base.” Aurora called into her com as they moved to the final block of their trek home.

 “This is base, please go ahead White Skull.”

 “Will you tell The Curator and Meathead that I’m bring home a present.”

 “Will do, ETA?”

 “Five minutes.”

 “See you then.”

 Donnie slowed down looking at his kunoichi. “You’re not gonna tell them I’m coming?”

 “I wanna see their faces when they lay eyes on you. I wanna keep that memory forever and put it with the same one we’ll get when your brothers return home.”

 @imthegreenfairy88​ @ravn-87​ @alonia143​ @tmntspidergirl​ @blossom-skies​

[evilrevan]

Ties that Bind

Emet-selch/WoL fic featuring a named WoL.

Contains spoilers pertaining towards of the end of 5.0.

Edited this hastily because I needed to get my feelings out from seeing some videos of Emet-Selch on YT. I GOT SOME HEAVY FEELINGS pertaining to this ship. Not everything is from the game as I took some minor liberties.

----

Yerenter watched on as the Scions stood before Emet-Selch, listening to his words lanced heavily with a profound sense of anguish as the ancient finally let his mask fall before them all. His mortal body, Solus, moved as if it was a second skin to a man who lived through all eight rejoinings. Golden eyes seemed to falter. To shift.

For the briefest of moments, Yerenter could see they were blue. As blue as the skies above Eorzea.

“Look at me!” a few scions stumbled as the visceral sensation of the ancient’s pain boomed within the chamber, his voice the anchor, “I have lived a thousand thousand of your lives! I have broken bread with you, fought with you, grown old, sired children and yes, welcomed death's sweet embrace!"

Emet-Selch’s voice rose to a fever’s pitch. His aether, his power leaking as old wounds were aired out and left to fester in the wake of them all. And yet as the other voices of the Scions tried to defend their rights to life Yerenter could do very little to add to them. The Au Ra’s mismatched eyes were fixed on the Ascian struggling to control himself as the tension in the air grew to the point one could call it being in the very center of a storm.

As purple and blue eyes met Emet-Selch’s golden orbs, it was then Yerenter felt it.

A singular pulse of searing pain struck the massive Au Ra. His knees wavered, the weight of his body bringing him to his knees as a blue-grey hand clutched at his chest. Long black claws scraped against the metal as they sought to tear out the source of the sheer agony pulsing within his breast. Thin scratch marks marred the Mythril-colored metal, jagged and frenzied in their patterns as the pain swam under every inch of the Xaela’s body. Nothing escaped the hellish torment.

Emet-Selch looked on as the Warrior dropped to the floor in a heap, his chest laboring to fill his lungs with air all mortals needed to sustain their husk-like shells. Bitter disgust crept in. Crawled around in the Ascian’s skull as pain brought the man low. 

Yet as the urge to comment on the state of their frail bodies the words died upon his tongue.

The vulnerability lasted only a moment. As if reminded of the husk pretending to be a long-lost friend. A lover. The unsundered gazed upon him and all those around the incomplete warrior of light, the look of disgust seeping in behind his golden eyes. Pity followed in small measures.

“You were a mistake.” Emet-Selch allows for a moment of silence after to let the words echo within the chamber. To rattle within their primitive brains. “Husks. Broken beings whose lives left me wanting after my many lifetimes. Worthless. Nothing.”

The Au Ra male despite all his suffering, all his pain, forced his head to rise and look at Emet-Selch in the eyes. “D-Don’t. Do. This.” Each word was said between gasps, between swallowed screams of agony caged within flesh and bones.

Emet-Selch scoffed. A gloved hand waving him off just like in the past. “If you do not wish for it, then fight for what you desire, Warrior of Light. But do not doubt my convictions. If you do,” The ancient in mortal flesh took a single step towards them all. Emet-Selch looked past the scions. His gaze focused on one person and one person alone. Yerenter.

Yerenter’s eyes widened as he once again saw the briefest of blue bleed through Emet-Selch’s piercing golden eyes, “I will not consider it murder being as broken and battered as you are.” And in a whirl of emotions ranging from anguish, regret, rage, and robustness- Yerenter saw the briefest look of pity and regret appear at the cracks of ascian’s carefully maintained mask.

Hades

That singular name pierced deep into Yerenter’s soul. A scream filling the silence as blinding white filled his senses. He could feel nothing save for the tearing shredding feeling of his skull threatening to shatter like glass.

”My reaper. My Thanatos.” 

A soothing balm broke through the suffering. Soft sweet words crept between the spasms of hell threatening to sunder flesh from soul. Tenderness. Softness. Safety.

And for the briefest of moments, Yerenter saw something in the midst of it all. A face framed with short white hair- eyes the color of the sky and the warmth of the very sun itself.

Hades

Something touched him. Fingers or perhaps an arm? It was hard to tell anymore what was real and what wasn’t. “Thanatos.” The disembodied voice kept chanting those two names in rapid succession. Thanatos. Hades.

And for whatever reason Yerenter’s heart ceased to hurt. Air flooded into his lungs as the white receded from his vision, his body renewed with the strength he didn’t think would return so soon.

On instinct Yerenter stood tall, towering above all his friends. A strange sensation compelled him forward. His legs wobbled with each step he took the rattling of his armor clamoring above the noise of the scions calling for him to return to their side. 

Their cries fell on deaf horns as their warrior, their savior, their friend continued ever forward, a single purple and blue eye fixed on the man dressed in red bearing the eyes, not of his creation. 

And yet as the space between the Ascian and the Chosen one of Hydaelyn shrunk, those very same eyes once again flashed blue. The very same eyes Yerenter remembered. But didn’t at the same time. Something else within him remembered. The very same something which screamed at his very core to stop Emet-Selch from sealing both their fates to a fight that would end in suffering.

“Emet-Selch,” Yerenter felt as if his mouth had gone dry, his head now lowered to look upon the shorter Garlean man. A slight spasm caused the Au Ra to flex his right hand, claws digging into the leather of his gauntlet just as something else flickered past his eyes, something no one could see.

A robed figure, taller than anything anyone could imagine stood in place of Emet-Selch. Threads of white hair poked out from the recesses of the hood shrouding what the red mask with circular lines didn’t cover, brilliant blue eyes contrasting between the hue of blood and the darkness of the robe. 

Hades

This time Yerenter let the name fall from his mouth, “Hades.” 

His gift was the sight of Emet-Selch’s eyes widening in disbelief. The fissures in his composure growing malms wide as Yerenter spoke Emet-Selch’s true name. Before he became the Architect. Before he took his seat at the Convocation of the 14th.

At the protest of his allies and friends, Yerenter reached out, his clawed fingers inches from the man who caused so much suffering for a cause he believed was righteous, until a thin red thread of his vestments snagged upon a singular black claw; sprung loose from the ties that bound it. Slowly his hand pulled away, the thread still caught on the edge of his clawed finger as it spread out in the space between their bodies.

It didn’t snap. Didn’t break. It simply connected them.

The very next thing Yerenter would recall was a test of aether spanning out from the man named Hades towards the taller, almost draconian, figure before him. 

Where he felt warmth before, Yerenter felt it again for the briefest of moments before his vision faltered. Cold snaked through his limbs, draining the comfort of the warmth and contentment from his very being. Piercing golden eyes widened in surprise only to be tinged with panic as the large Au Ra man began buckling under his weight. 

“Thanatos!” No one heard Emet-Selch cry out in alarm. But the vibrations were felt. The echoes of the name unspoken were loud enough for Yerenter to feel through his horns.

And it was enough.

[lesdemonium]

romtober day 8: love breaking a curse

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2696 Summary: Geralt receives a contract to take care of a creature haunting the castle overlooking a village. Geralt decides he might be able to save the creature instead. 

AN: ok i'm gonna warn y'all before you start--i make no fucking effort to wrap this up. this is basically 3kish words of an idea for a longfic, which has been rattling around inside my brain and hopefully will get written eventually. but if i get any angry messages about the curse not getting broken or me leaving this without any sort of resolution, i will give you sassy responses. your expectations should now have been adjusted accordingly!

if you like this idea and would like to eventually see a resolution, lmk! i find it fun and would love to get back to it, if there's an interest.

read on ao3

The castle was freezing. Geralt had barely stepped past the threshold before he could see his breath fogging out before him. Outside, it had been a spring morning, on the cooler side, but still held a hint of warmth. Inside, the air felt harsh against his skin, cold enough to cause pinpricks of pain.

It was dark and dusty. Cobwebs covered everything and the furniture and paintings showed a level of degradation Geralt wasn’t expecting. The castle hadn’t been deserted for long, maybe a few decades at most, and yet it looked as if it had been abandoned centuries ago. The cold, the rot, the stillness of the air, the overwhelming feeling of decay, it left Geralt feeling as if he’d never be warm again. This place reeked of sadness.

As he stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind him, he heard something shift in one of the rooms beyond what he could see. There had been reports of a specter, of a monster, of a something haunting the deserted castle, and the forests around. The villagers were scared to go near it. They were convinced if they drew too close, they would die an unspeakable death. Better to have a Witcher go and take care of the problem for them.

Geralt followed the sound, though he was unsure if it was the creature or just an animal that had looked for warmth. He dispelled that thought, however--it was so much colder inside than beyond the castle walls, he was certain no animal in its right mind would seek out this place for protection from the elements. Something shifted again, and a cracking sound echoed through the halls. Geralt pulled out his silver sword and stepped carefully, silently.

He came to a large, open room, with wide windows, many of which were shattered. A ballroom, maybe. Once, it might have been grand, but now it was just as destroyed as the rest of the castle. Geralt edged a foot forward, crossing the threshold.

A voice, high and inhuman, hissed its way through the air. “Go away,” it said, and Geralt whipped his head around to find the source. 

There, in the corner, he saw it. What, exactly, he was seeing, Geralt wasn’t entirely sure. The figure was humanoid, almost, but much taller than the average human with long limbs and sharp angles. The skin was partially translucent, like glass, but splattered with hundreds of flecks of black and dark gray and brown to muddy its appearance. It stretched as tall as it could, its arms and legs lengthened to make it appear more imposing than it actually was, and if Geralt was human, he was sure he would cower at this icy creature that was easily ten, twelve feet tall.

Geralt was not human, however. And despite the way the creature attempted to make itself look like a threat, Geralt noticed the way it remained bent in on itself, and as far from Geralt as he could get. 

“What are you?” Geralt asked, pulling himself fully into the room.

A scream rung out in the room, high and hissing like the voice had been, and Geralt had to brace himself against the wall to keep from being flung. The windows rattled and Geralt heard one high above shatter, only to rain down on the creature. It did not react. Instead, it seemed to close in on itself more.

“Go away,” the creature insisted again, but now the voice sounded more human, and far more sad than Geralt was expecting. A man’s voice.

“I’m a Witcher,” Geralt said. He returned his sword to his scabbard, then held his hands out in front of him, palms facing the creature to show he meant no harm. “I was hired to investigate this castle, rid it of whatever was haunting it. But I think you mean them no harm.”

“Go away,” the creature repeated. He sounded desperate now, and Geralt saw the way he pressed up against the wall behind him, like he was trying to get away from Geralt. Geralt stopped.

“I can help you.”

“No one can help me,” the creature answered. Ah. So he could say more.

“I could try.” Geralt looked around. “Is this your home?”

“It was.”

“What happened to it?”

The creature was silent for a long time. Then, the room erupted into color, and light, and warmth. The debris littering the floor was gone, and it revealed a beautiful marble floor, so clean and shiny Geralt was sure he could see his face reflected in it. He was right, the room had been grand, with the large windows letting in so much light. Geralt started when a body moved through him--a specter, a visual trick the creature was creating just for him. Couples danced, and now Geralt could just barely hear the music, and the far-off sound of voices and laughter.

“A witch,” the creature said, and it felt as if the voice was in his head. 

Geralt saw her now. She was beautiful, in a floor length gown and a deep purple cloak that flowed around it. The witch stepped up to a man, young and beautiful and dressed in finery, who held out his hand. She accepted, and they joined the other couples dancing.

Just as quickly as the couple appeared, they faded into nothingness, and Geralt watched as the entire illusion faded into the disrepair it was now. The creature slumped, all of his energy gone.

“Were you the man?” Geralt asked.

“I was,” the creature answered.

“What’s your name?” Gerlt asked.

“Go away.”

“What’s your name?” Geralt asked again.

“Go away!” the creature insisted, his voice taking on the hissing, harsh, inhuman quality again.

“I want to help you.”

“No one can help me!” Now the creature stood up again, and Geralt tried to brace himself again for the scream, but it was louder this time, more powerful. Furniture moved across the floor, and the wind whipped around him, picking up in intensity as it carried off the creature’s final “Go away!”

Geralt barely registered escaping, but he found himself outside the castle and wind slammed the giant door shut behind him.

--

The next day, Geralt wore the furs he had unpacked from Roach’s saddlebag. She was safely stabled in the village, and Geralt left her with the stablehand and thorough instructions.

Getting to the castle was no easier the second time as it was the first. It was perched high on a mountain, surrounded by large, tall, thick trees. It made little sense--surely there would be an easier way to travel between the castle and the village, as this castle would have presided over the village. Perhaps the creature had a hand in making it inaccessible.

Impossibly, the castle was colder when Geralt finally pushed his way inside. The door had been blocked off with debris, the creature clearly thinking that a little effort and a thick tree branch were enough to deter Geralt from his mission. They were not. Geralt was made of far sturdier stuff than that.

Geralt had barely cleared the doorway when he heard that hissing voice again.

“Go away!”

“No,” Geralt answered. He planted his feet, sure that another display of the creature’s power was coming, but after a few moments, Geralt still only heard silence. He made his way back to the ballroom.

The creature was not there.

He searched the surrounding rooms, but there was no sight of him. There were about a hundred more rooms in the castle that he could have searched through, but Geralt had a feeling even if he did, the creature would be one step ahead of him.

“You could make this easier on both of us and just show yourself,” Geralt said.

The creature’s only answer was a quick burst of wind that blew leaves into Geralt’s hair.

“Have it your way,” he answered.

Geralt made his way back to the ballroom. This was where he set up his supplies. He had planned for an extended stay this time, complete with rations, extra bedding, and even a tent in case his host was feeling like manipulating the weather. By the time he was finished, he caught a flickering in the corner of his eye, and turned to look.

The creature was now in the corner, right where he had been the day before, and whatever magic he had used to make himself invisible was wearing out. Or he was choosing to allow Geralt to see him.

Satisfied, Geralt sat himself upon his bedroom, his legs crossed, and faced the creature. For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

“Why are you still here?” Geralt asked.

“It’s my home.” The creature sounded offended, but at least his voice was human.

“Are you stuck here?”

The creature didn’t answer, but the wind blew another clump of leaves at Geralt’s face.

“What’s your name?” Geralt asked, to help squash the grin growing on his face.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt hummed. “That’s a bad name for an ice monster.”

This time, when the leaves hit his face, he didn’t bother hiding his grin.

“What are you?” Geralt asked.

“Shouldn’t you know that, Witcher?”

“I’ve never seen anything like you,” Geralt answered, figuring honesty was probably what was needed here to get the creature--Jaskier--on his side. “And you didn’t tell me much about how you came to be.”

The wind swirled in the room, and Geralt watched the leaves spin in circles as Jaskier, presunably, mulled this over. At least they weren’t flying toward his face this time.

“Cursed,” Jaskier finally answered.

“By the witch?”

“Yes. Marikka.”

Geralt hummed. “You knew her. Why did she curse you?”

Behind him, a door slammed. Geralt turned to look at it, and saw it swaying open again, apparently broken. He hadn’t even felt the wind, but when he looked back to Jaskier, he could just barely see the pinched expression on his face. It was hard, from this distance, but the message was clear. Back off.

Geralt wouldn’t.

“How am I supposed to help you if you don’t give me any information?” Geralt asked, rolling his eyes.

The door slammed again, and this time Geralt didn’t look. Over and over, it banged against the threshold, but as it went on, the less pointed it seemed. The wind kicked up around him, swirling the leaves and debris and creating little tornados. Jaskier didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. Geralt felt the anguish there.

“I can’t help you unless you help me,” Geralt said, standing up. He held his hands out again, and tried to inch closer to Jaskier. “I can’t break this curse if I don’t know what it is.”

“Then don’t!” Jaskier screamed back, sounding more like a wraith than he had yet. Geralt kept moving closer, even as the wind picked up, his steps slow and steady. This time, he’d make it to Jaskier. He knew he would.

That was his last thought before Jaskier sent a burst of wind directly at him. So strong Geralt flew off the ground, and right into a marble pillar. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

--

When Geralt woke, he was in another room entirely.

The bed he was in wasn’t destroyed, exactly, but it certainly showed its wear and tear. Cloth just didn’t last that long, and as a result the canopy above him was in tatters, and the blanket over him didn’t hold in the warmth as much as his furs had. Still, he noted the effort that Jaskier--it had to be Jaskier--put in, even if Geralt was shivering from the moment he woke up.

“Jaskier?” he called, as he sat up. 

There was no response, and Jaskier wasn’t in the room. Geralt stood and--checking to make sure there were no damages, or that he was healed of any that had been there--made his way back to the ballroom. When he got to the door, it wouldn’t budge.

“Jaskier, I know you’re doing this,” Geralt said patiently. “Let me in.”

“No. Go away.” Jaskier still sounded as if he was in the same room, rather than behind the ornate door.

“That hasn’t worked every other time you said it, and it won’t work this time.” Geralt pushed on the door again, and it budged, but swiftly closed again, knocking Geralt back. “Please don’t launch me again.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and he did sound remorseful. Miserable, even. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Geralt answered. “You were in pain. I knew you were lashing out, and I still got too close. I forgive you.”

There was a long silence, and when Geralt tried the door again, it gave way. The room was even more destroyed. Broken glass was everywhere, and while he was out, the chandelier had given way. It now lay destroyed in the center of the room.

“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt asked, turning to face Jaskier, back in his place on the far side of the room. As always.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier repeated, sounding no less miserable than he had before.

“So this… was you?” Jaskier didn’t answer, but Geralt took it as an admission. “Because you were upset? Guilty?”

“For hurting you,” Jaskier agreed.

“I’m fine, Jaskier. I heal. I’ve gotten worse injuries than a smack to the head.” He bent to pick up one of his own belongings, which were now strewn about the room. “I’m going to set up my camp again. I won’t approach you, but I might have to get closer.”

The wind kicked up again, but only strong enough to blow some of his belongings closer to Geralt. Geralt smiled, then set himself on the task of setting up camp again. By the time he was finished, the sun that had been shining through the windows had grown low in the sky. Geralt had a feeling, with his long healing rest, that he wasn’t going to sleep much today.

“You can leave this room,” Geralt said. It was as much a statement as a question. He was pretty sure Jaskier didn’t use wind to carry him the whole way upstairs, into the bed, and under the covers. He didn’t seem strong enough, except when he was upset. That meant he had to have carried Geralt. “Why don’t you?”

“I like it,” Jaskier answered.

There was a pause, then slowly the room started to change back into that magnificent vision Jaskier had given him before. Jaskier, it seemed, remembered this room in sunlight and warmth, despite the growing darkness outside and the ever-present cold. This time, the room was empty of people, aside from a small boy playing a piano. His melody was rough, clearly he was still learning, but as the song went on, he grew better. He grew older.

Soon, Geralt was looking at the boy turned young man. Jaskier, it had to be. Jaskier wasn’t dressed in his finery this time; instead he wore a pair of trousers and a loose-fitting shirt, unbuttoned far below what Geralt was sure was appropriate. The music he played was beautiful and had a great deal of character and humor pressed into it. He had never heard this song before.

“You like music,” Geralt said.

The image before him changed rapidly. Images of Jaskier playing a piano, images of Jaskier dancing, playing a lute, singing, writing. They went too fast for Geralt to get a good look at anything, but he knew this was a correction. Jaskier didn’t like music, Jaskier loved music.

“How long have you been here?” Geralt asked.

The image of Jaskier changed. It was horrific, Jaskier’s take on his transformation. The memory-Jaskier’s body twisted and cracked in unnatural, painful ways, sharp edges breaking out of his skin and enveloping him in ice. His mouth opened in a silent scream as his legs and arms grew long, long, longer, until he was the creature Jaskier was today. The warmth crept out of the room, and slowly the ruin grew, until Geralt found himself right back in the destroyed ballroom, all illusions gone.

“A long time,” Jaskier answered.

[free-pool-trash]

folklore - isaac lahey {6/?}

part 6 (again) 😖 ***the timeline/sequence of events is messed up but it doesn’t matter too much it’s just to move the story along faster*** everything about this is a hot mess, i hope you love it ;)

(sorry about this i rlly dont know wtf happened it just spazzed out, sorry yall)

word count: 4k

warnings: blood, tension, kissing ;), mentions of abuse, swearing

taglist: @makeusfreefromthisfandom​, @cece-lives-here​, @chocolate-raspberries​, @belsandthings​, @dancing-tacos-23​, @truly-dionysus​, @britty443​, @tanyaherondale​, @furiouspockettoad​, @yunsh-17​, @random-thoughts-003​, @gloomybrieyxb​, @futuristicslimemongerbanana​, @linkpk88​, @big-galaxy-chaos​, @im-a-stranger-thing​, @riaisnotcool​, @its-evita-here​, @pad-foots​, @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy​, @bookswillfindyouaway​, @what-the-hap-is-fuckening​, @awkwardnesshabitat​, @pieces-by-me​, @wreny24​ let me know if you’d like to be added <3

MASTERLIST

To say Isaac Lahey looked like he’d been beaten to a pulp would have been a colossal understatement. The boy practically limped into school the day after his father demonstrated his dissatisfaction for his youngest son after attending his parent teacher meeting.

It’d been a long night of taking punches, kicks and insults that would plague Isaac’s mind for weeks to come. His voice was raw from screaming to be released from the freezer he’d been locked in after his father grew bored of inflicting pain physically. Deciding psychological pain was just as good as physical pain, his father left him to think about his inferiority for an entire night, only letting him out an hour before he was due to start school.

His lip still dripped scarlet as he walked the halls, both eyes black and ever so slightly swollen and so very tired looking. His steps were taken shakily. It didn’t take him long to notice you standing by his locker, waiting for him as usual. Usually when his eyes flickered over you his body would fill with relief. But after remembering how upset you’d been in your car the day before he found his relief being replaced by guilt and dread.

Isaac ducked his head, he did this purely to avoid your eyes. He still made his way towards you nonetheless.

The first thing to hit you was the scent of blood. Fresh and warm and right from the source, you could tell- you weren’t sure how you could tell but you just knew. You lifted your eyes from the floor. You wished you hadn’t when your eyes landed on Isaac, hobbling towards you with blood dripping down his split bottom lip.

The second thing to hit you, though, was the undeniable feeling of guilt that hit you when Isaac refused to meet your gaze.

As soon as his slow and sluggish steps carried him to you your hands flew to his cheeks, gentle but firm, you cupped them and tried your very hardest to ignore how much you wanted to run your tongue along his bleeding lip. It was proving a lot harder than you would have ever thought it would, in all honesty.

You forced your eyes to stay locked on his, your jaw tight and teeth clenched, your own anger overpowering Isaac’s guilt. “What did he do to you?” You asked him softly, brushing your thumbs along his cheekbones with a feather like touch. The last thing you wanted to do was put him in any more pain than he was already in.

“I may have a C minus in more than just chem.” Isaac explained flatly. Despite the slight ache your hands caused him he couldn’t stop himself from melting into you, loving your warmth as opposed to the cold of the basement freezer. 

At his confession you found yourself unable to hold yourself back any longer. You let out a sigh and Isaac fixed you with a confused gaze as he watched your brows furrow in determination. “Come with me.” 

Isaac followed behind you as you led him towards the basement of the school, nobody ever went down there and your first class, with Isaac, happened to be a free period. It wasn’t until you were standing across from each other again in the narrow dark hallway of the basement that Isaac spoke up in question, “Did you bring me down here to kill me or…”

You let out a shaky sigh, confidence waning as you second guessed yourself. Was this a good idea? Absolutely not. Would it make him feel better, however? Incredibly so, yes.

Deciding you’d probably stretched the whole “keep Isaac out of it” thing as far as you could, there was no point keeping it from him any longer- he was getting hurt whether he knew about the supernatural or not. 

“I’m about to tell you something completely bizarre and I need you to, one, please believe me and don’t freak out and, two, don’t be mad at me for not telling you sooner.” Isaac’s eyebrow rose in concern, “Yeah- yeah sure, ok- what is it?” His voice was filled with worry as were his eyes, that still sparkled despite the dark purple colouring surrounding them paired with the dim lightening of the windowless basement.

“Remember that thing that bit me?” You asked and he nodded mutely, “well, it sort of… gave me something.”

Isaac gasped, “Rabies?” His question was so positively drenched with genuine concern that you had to laugh, grabbing his hand and shaking your head softly. 

“No, I don’t have rabies.” You laughed again, his relieved sigh bouncing off the walls.

“Thank God.”

“It’s probably best if I just show you.” You told him, smiling softly and nodding your head in resolve. You were doing this.

“Show me wha-... holy shit.” Isaac gasped yet again, mouth agape and eyes wide as he stared at your, now slightly changed face, your eyes were a glowing purple and you had fangs? Something in the back of his head told him that, really, he should be afraid. But he wasn’t. Not even in the slightest. He thought the look suited you quite frankly. The way the purple glow of your eyes reflected against your complexion in the dim lighting was, in all honesty, completely mesmerising.

“I’m a vampire.” You clarified, although it was perfectly obvious. Isaac only nodded his head numbly, still trying to comprehend what he was looking at.

When he didn’t say anything after a solid ten seconds you spoke yet again, “I’m telling you because, I hate seeing you hurt…” Your voice trailed off, you weren’t exactly sure what to say in the moment.

It was just then that Isaac spoke up, a sad lilt in his voice while he squeezed your hand, “Come on, (N/n). Don’t do this to yourself, you know there’s nothing you can do-“ You cut him off, voice a mix of anxiety and excitement, “But Isaac! I can! I can do something about it! Okay? Look- I’ve got all these new vampire abilities and one of them…” You paused to take a breath, eyes flying around his face frantically before you finally locked your gaze with his. 

Swallowing the lump on your throat you finished, “I can take your pain away. And physically heal you- but that might not be such a good idea. Your dad would know something was up.”

One thing you loved about Isaac was that he always took your word for things. He never ever doubted you and always believed you when you told him something. Even in a situation like this< he never asked questions< he simply trusted you.

“Will taking my pain away hurt you? Because if it will then absolutely not, I’ll keep it to myself I don’t want you getting hurt because of-“ Isaac fretted anxiously, only stopping when your hands returned to their previous spot on his cheeks, smiling sweetly, “It won’t hurt at all. It’s actually quite enjoyable.”

“How do you do it?” He asked tentatively, hands moving to rest on your waist, an action that wasn’t entirely uncommon but was usually saved for the most intimate of shared moments, which, you supposed, this was.

Nervously you chewed on the inside of your cheek before telling him, “Well, when I feed on someone, its got some kind of euphoric effect- kinda like a drug high or something.” 

Isaac, yet again, nodded his head. “Okay. Go for it.” He told you surely, though hints of anxiety still lingered in his voice. 

You nodded slowly in response. Your hands slipped from his cheeks, the left was now tangled in his curls and tilting his head gently to the side to expose his, already bruised, neck. The other grabbed ahold of his shoulder, bringing him down so that you were level with his neck.

Isaac’s eyes stayed glued to you while you walked him carefully backwards until his back met the wall of the basement, your eyes were still glowing and it was when you nervously peered up at him through your lashes that he realised; he’d do anything you ever asked him to.

“This might sting a bit. Tell me if you start to feel dizzy.” You warned before, hesitantly, moving your fangs towards his neck. His grip on your waist tightening as you bit into him, as gently as you could. He let out a short hiss of pain before you felt him relax against you, his eyes closed and his jaw fell slack the second his blood hit your tongue.

His blood was an entirely new experience. It tasted like, you didn’t actually know, but it was like nothing you’d ever consumed before. If you thought Stiles’ blood was good, Isaac’s was on another level. Maybe all your pinning for him made him taste better to you? You didn’t know.

A satisfied sound unconsciously left your mouth at the flavour while your hand tightened in his hair, but in your close proximity you picked up something more than just the taste of his blood. It felt like… lust? 

The feeling was backed up by the throaty groan falling from Isaac’s mouth, his hands not only tightening on your waist but pulling you closer to his body. Now chest to chest as your lips moved on his neck.

True to your word, Isaac already forgot about the ache in his body- his mind now consumed by the feeling of you, the girl he was not so secretly in love with, with your lips and tongue situated on his neck. And if that alone wasn’t enough to steer his mind away from his pain, the feeling the bite gave to him definitely did the trick.

It was like morphine running straight through his veins. He felt not only like he’d never been hurt to begin with but as well as that, and maybe more importantly, his mind was completely at peace- his thoughts purely consumed by you.

The way you looked when you removed your mouth from his neck was bordering on ethereal, your bodies remained pressed against each other and for a few moments you simply stared at each other with half lidded eyes. Isaac’s breath came out in pants as he stared down at you, your own eyes captivated by the dried blood on his lower lip. Noticing this, and with very little composure what with his current blissed out state, Isaac spoke, “You can take it- the blood. If you want it.”

You weren’t sure at what point it had happened but the lust you felt earlier had magnified tenfold, although you were sure it didn’t all belong to Isaac- you felt it too. He stared at your lips the way you’d been starring at his only seconds ago, did he want you to kiss him? It seemed like it. Did you want to kiss him. Absolutely. A thousand times over.

Again you found yourself wondering; was this a good idea? And, again, you found yourself thinking that, no, it probably wasn’t the best idea. 

Your inhibitions were lowered significantly since you fed, feeding on Stiles’ had been enjoyable but feeding on Isaac, though- that had been intoxicating. Perfectly content to blame what you were about to do on your intoxication if it came back to bite you in the ass, you moved your hands back to their favourite spot cupping Isaac’s cheeks.

Slowly, you pulled him back down to your level, the boy in your grasp complying quite happily, seemingly entranced by your face. Butterflies were erupting violently in your stomach at the way his blue eyes fluttered over your face appreciatively as if admiring art and the way his hands held you to him so tenderly, like he was afraid to hurt you despite knowing you were a supernatural entity. 

What you’d give for him to gaze at you like that, so openly and surely, all the time. 

Without giving it any further thought you gave into what you’d been craving for the longest time and pressed your lips against his, the action feeling more intoxicating than the blood itself. 

Isaac’s hands mirrored yours, sliding up your side before resting against your cheeks. 

His lips moved furiously against yours. The many bruises and injuries that littered his body were long forgotten as he tasted you against his lips, finally.

Your breath came out in pants as you pulled away, your forehead resting against Isaac’s and your chests still pressed against each other. 

It was only when you studied his face that you’d realised you never even got the blood from his split lower lip. What made you feel better though, was the fact that he’d kissed you as passionately as you’d kissed him and his hands that still cupped your cheeks.

“That definitely made me feel better.” Isaac breathed out against your lips, a dopey smile forming on his own.

An airy laugh left your throat at his comment, all your fears of the kiss causing havoc evaporated from your mind with the sound of his voice.

“On a scale of one to ten how drunk do you feel right now?” You asked him teasingly, noticing his eyes were glazed over and his almost static feeling happiness was popping in your chest, almost like fireworks.

Isaac only shrugged, his happiness feeling as though it couldn’t ever be dampened after the kiss he’d just shared with you. “Tipsy at best.” He answered, and true enough you noticed he’d regained his composure a lot faster than Stiles had done the first time you fed on him. Kisses did have a tendency to be sobering, you supposed. 

A silence fell over the pair of you after that. Isaac’s eyes returned their gaze to your lips yet again and you would’ve had to be blind not to notice. By this point your eyes had returned to their usual colour and your fangs reverted back into their dormant form of your regular canines, he was simply looking at you now, just you, no supernatural frills to be seen. But as always, you just being you was enough for him. 

“Would our friendship be destroyed if I told you I really want to kiss you again?” Before you could even answer, he was already dipping his lips back to yours. Not that you minded. 

This time, his lips moved slowly and gently, his thumbs rubbing against your cheekbones before they slipped back down to grasp your waist. As your lips, yet again, meshed perfectly with his, that feeling came over your chest again. That light, fluffy feeling he not only gave you but also radiated. It was only when he pulled away for the second time that you put your finger on exactly what that feeling was- love.

With the realisation- the confirmation that the love you felt towards Isaac was mutual you couldn’t stop the wide smile that formed on your lips, you chased his lips once more after he’d pulled away and tried to keep your giggles quiet when he met you halfway with just as much enthusiasm and his smile just as wide.

It was probably a stupid question but you asked it anyway, “So… you’re not mad that I didn’t tell you about the whole vampire thing?” Isaac shook his head, “I know now. I get why you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted to.” You told him, a nervous smile taking over your lips as you continue, “But I was kinda warned against it.” He nodded his head, although he was confused, who would’ve even warned you? Were there more supernatural creatures in Beacon Hills that he didn’t know about?

His thoughts didn’t wander too far as your soft voice cut them off, “I’m glad you know now. I missed ranting to you.” 

The boy, still holding your waist, let out a sigh, “I’m glad you told me, too. I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. You had me worried.” He told you, laughing airily towards the end.

When he saw the look of guilt beginning to form on your face he immediately changed the course of the conversation. “While we’re confessing stuff…” he began, shy Isaac returning as his eyes fluttered anywhere but your eyes. “We’ve been best friends for a while, and um-  I’ve wanted to tell you for a while- years… yeah for years… but um-“ you couldn’t help but smile as he rambled, you thought you had a clue where he was going. “Isaac.” You cut him off softly, smile never faltering when you finally dropped your palms from his cheeks, placing them over his that were still on your waist and giving them a reassuring squeeze. 

“Take a breath.” You instructed with a laugh. Taking your advice Isaac took a deep breath, manoeuvring his hands to hold yours, your intertwined hands hanging between the both of you now.

“I like you- love you! I love you. A lot. In a more than best friends way. And I have for a… twelve, yeah, no I’ve loved you since we were twelve. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same! I just thought since we kissed just now that maybe you-“ He was rambling again, as he tended to do when he was nervous and in the moment you couldn’t think of any other way to shut him up than to plant your lips against his. Effectively cutting him off as you did so. 

To be perfectly honest, you could definitely get used to kissing him like this all of the time. When you removed your lips from his, for what felt like the millionth time, Isaac’s eyes remained shut. With the absence of blue it really hit you how beaten up he really was, his eyes were black and purple as well as swollen terribly. When you took him in, the words fell from your lips before you could think of some flowery way to present them, “I love you too.”

A sigh of relief left his mouth and he finally found the courage to open his eyes again. The moment was ruined by the class bell ringing in the distance, signifying that your free period was now over and you’d both need to be getting to class.

The pair of you headed off together with wide smiles on your faces that didn’t seem to die down throughout the rest of the day. At the end of the school day, he’d walked you to your car and gave you a kiss goodbye before walking away looking the most pleased you’d ever seen him.

To put it simply, you were on cloud nine. As soon as you entered your kitchen once you got home from school, though, you found yourself crashing straight back down to earth.

Sitting in front of you in all his glory was Derek Hale, it didn’t excite you to see he didn’t look even remotely like he was about to apologise for being a shitty, unloyal pack member, “What do you want?” You snapped, tossing your school bag by his feet rather aggressively for no particular reason. It felt kind of nice to mildly inconvenience him.

“You need to leave.” Was all he said and you rolled your eyes, crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him with a raised eyebrow, “May I remind you, Derek, you don’t fucking live here. So maybe you need to leave.” You snapped, venom seeping from your tone but it didn’t seem to phase him, he knew how things worked with you. You were always hard to lose but once you were gone you were even harder to get back. 

“Beacon Hills, (Y/n). You need to leave Beacon Hills.” He clarified for you, still remaining stoic. “What? Why?” You wanted a good reason. A really good reason. You didn’t just confess your love to your best friend of six years to have Derek swan back into your business and tell you had to leave town for no good reason.

“If I tell you, you won’t leave.” Was he serious? He couldn’t give you a reason to leave but you could think of about ten reasons to stay, he obviously wasn’t one of them at the minute.

“You’re full of shit.” You stated, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Look I know you don’t exactly like me right now, kid. But for the first time since you turned I’m actually trying to look out for you, alright?” His stoic facade had dropped now, he was practically begging. 

You clenched your jaw, you didn’t want to be difficult but it was hard when the man in front of you wasn’t exactly a smooth operator himself. “If you want me to trust you tell me why.”

“We know who the Alpha is. He’s going to be coming for you next and we need to get you as far away from here as we can before he gets to you.” Derek finally explained, his anxiety bouncy from every cell in his body right into your chest. “Who is it?” You wondered, who could it have been that would make you want to stay? It wasn’t Isaac, it could’ve been Scott but that wasn’t likely seeing as he was looking for the alpha too. It definitely wasn’t Stiles. 

Derek didn’t answer this question. “Your dad is in a meeting with Chris Argent right now. His sister, Kate, was onto you, wants to put your fangs on a necklace. Your dad’s keeping them distracted long enough for me to get you out. So, we need to go. Your stuff is already in my car.” He rushed out grabbing your forearm with a grip you knew you couldn’t wriggle out of. (Not that you didn’t try.)

The wolf had to practically wrestle you into the passenger seat, ignoring all of your colourful threats of what you’d do to his precious car once you got free of his hold as he strapped you in.

Once he got into the driver’s seat, he immediately began to drive, way over the streets speed limit, and it wasn’t until you passed the “Visit Again Soon!” Beacon Hills sign that you piped up.

“Ok, we’re officially out of town. Now tell me what the hell is going on.” You demanded, the tension between you and Derek growing with every mile he drove.

Letting out a deep sigh he finally answered, “The Alpha? It’s Peter.”

The gasp that left you was sharp and Derek knew you’d handle this information with as much disbelief as he had.

Peter couldn’t have been the alpha. The alpha killed Laura Hale- tore her apart. The alpha bit Scott and you, Scott had told you he’d even punched his fist through Derek’s chest and chased him, Stiles, Alison, Jackson and Lydia around the school a few nights ago. Peter wouldn’t have done all of those things… The Peter you knew wouldn’t do all of of those things.

The the more you thought about it the more it began to add up in your mind. The voice, the one you’d heard that night in the hospital, so full of clarity and intention, the voice that consistently rattled your brain with the words of “Don’t let it kill you.” That voice, it belonged to Peter.

“Stiles and I found out last night. He said he had plans for you, he said he wanted the both of his by his side- in his pack. We knew if he got to you right now you’d join him. Even if it was just to spite me.” He explained softly, his brotherly tone making an appearance for the first time in weeks. 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stared at Derek in confusion, “What makes you think I would’ve gone with him.” You asked, a tiny bit offended by his statement although you had a feeling he was onto something, even if you weren’t ready to admit it to yourself.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. I’ve been thinking about what you said last night before you ran off and you’re right. I forgot about you when you needed me the most and I’m sorry for that. We both know you and Peter always had a stronger bond than the rest of us. Hating me would make him look better” He told you, not receiving an answer as he watched you stare emptily out the car window, watching the sun as it set.

“You were always so independent growing up, you did things yourself and you loved it. I didn’t know what to make of you becoming a vampire, to be honest I was hoping you’d become a wolf.” Letting out a heavy sigh Derek finished his little speech, “I didn’t know how to help you. It made me feel useless so I focused all of my time on helping Scott. I know it hasn’t been easy for you but where you’re going is going to be really good for you.” 

“And where exactly are you taking me.” You asked suspiciously. “Before you freak out, you’re only staying there until we stop whatever Peter is planning. Two weeks tops.” He tried to reason but it only served to panic you further, “Derek, where are you taking me.”

“I’m dropping you off at the airport and your getting on the next flight to Virginia.” Your eyes widened as you let out a small screech, “Virginia? That’s like a five hour flight! Why Virginia? And for two week? What about the Winter formal?” You rambled, voice high pitched with panic.

Derek shot you a sympathetic look before returning his attention to the highway, “I’ve got a few friends there. One of them is kind of a vampire expert. Says he knows some people that might be able to help train you.” The wolf explained.

Derek had friends? That was truly shocking.

“Who’s your friend?” You asked curiously. 

“His name’s Alaric Saltzman. He’s picking you up at the airport when you land.” 

“So I’m staying with some man I’ve never even met? Cool. Really not worrying at all, Derek. And my parents are on board with this little plan?” You inquired uneasily.

Derek let out a snigger at this, “Seeing as your mother was the one to suggest him, yes. Your dad isn’t so keen on the idea.”

He was chuckling like a little kid and you felt as though you were missing something, “Why isn’t he too keen on it?” 

His laugh came out full voice now as he looked at you with a mischievous grin, “Because before he and your mother got together, she was dating Ric.” 

Your eyes widened and your jaw almost hit the floor, “So your shipping me off to my mother's ex to keep me away from my alpha werewolf uncle? You guys are the fucking worst.”

[feastofcadavers]

Even in the most comfortable of beds, Mint couldn't seem to catch a break when it came to resting well. Though it didn't exactly help when the lights in his place of rest were flickering rapidly. Just barely opening his eyes, Mint looked into the blurry darkness that would seem to set itself alight for brief moments. It was through this haze that the musician would slowly process that this flickering was... Not normal. Blinking a few times to attempt to get some of the sleep out of his eyes, the emerald-eyed man would realize that these lights were flashing too sporadically to be caused by someone messing with the light switch. "Wha..." He'd tiredly start to speak, though soon had his eyes shoot open as he heard a distant yell. That- that sounded like someone was in excruciating pain.

Whipping himself out of bed- and nearly falling over due to the imbalance of just waking up- Mint looked around for where the sound could have come from. Aloe was in the room with him, sleeping peacefully and holding some sort of doll. He couldn't exactly make it out since the lighting was so inconsistent, but it at least wasn't the source of distress. There was a split-second idea of waking Aloe up, just in case, but... As the shrieking of pain caught in his ears again, he decided against such and just focused on the sound itself... Which seemed to be coming from outside.  There was a window in the space between the beds that the two resided in that also held a window, clear of dust and whatever else. There seemed to be sparks flying past it, coinciding with the screaming. So, what else was Mint to do? He'd approach the window, looking out into the world that wouldn't break into dawn for at least a few more hours.

And to the violinist's surprise, or rather, his shock... There was a yellow glow far beneath the window. And looking into that glow, there was... Someone. Too familiar with someone with electrical abilities, Mint could feel a weight on his heart as he heard the voice cry out again, barely recognizing the voice now that he had a visual. Lemon?! What was he doing all the way out here? Mint's expression furrowed into one of deep distress. What was causing that much pain? Screaming out into the darkness, the agony held in his voice, it... If it was something that even someone like Lemon couldn't stifle, it must've been excruciating. As the latest scream died down, the concerned onlooker could make out some sort of bag next to the sparking victim. That was-

Another scream-! This one was far louder than the others. One that sounded more like a screech that almost gave the impression that Lemon's vocal cords were tearing themselves apart. The horrific sound rang itself in Mint's ears, and he was met with the sight of... Oh- Oh for the love of- Mint could feel a similar pain shoot through his back as he saw the sight of wings tear out of Lemon's flesh. Despite the darkness, the red of blood was kept visible with the yellow glow that was speckled throughout it, highlighting the horrors and agony that one as cold as him couldn't help but fall apart under. Lemon was curling in on himself, wings seeming to glimmer as if it was some sort of newborn blessing.

Mint was finally able to pry himself away from the window, pupils trembling and his body tense as he tried to process what he just saw. His eyes wouldn't deceive him, would they? Putting a hand over his heart, he would breathlessly try to tell it to be still. He'd retract it a second later, knowing what his words implied. "Just... Just calm down... I-I... I need to..." Shutting his eyes tight and shaking his head, he'd turn away from the window and make a break out the door. What way was the exit to this place? He couldn't let Lemon suffer alone out there- Not when he had personal experience as to how painful it was and how weak one could become afterward!

Turning a corner, Mint would accidentally collide with Truffle, narrowly falling back but catching himself. "I'm- I'm sorry, I just-" "You are going to look for the source of all that screaming and these flickering lights, aren't you?" "Well, yes, but you- you see-" Mint would pause in his words, trying to properly get himself to speak. In which that effort was... marginally successful. "That- Out there is an acquaintance- Lemon, he... He just sprouted wings! I need to go and- and make sure he's taken care of!" "Ah, I see. Well then," Truffle began as she turned from Mint, softly smiling back at him, "how about we go pay him a visit and I will ensure that he is cared for? It would be rude to keep him waiting." As much as the violinist felt unease about the situation, at least Truffle was there to help- her and those spiders. He didn't question where the spiders were at this time, just... Instead focusing on making sure the two of them would get to Lemon as fast as possible.

Despite only being able to see some spindly portions of what Mint assumed to be the guide's dress, Truffle was very quick on her feet and brought the two out in no time flat. "This way-" Mint would quickly state, heading around the perimeter of the mansion. Past the graves and whatever else the Hallow's Eve addict had for decorations, Lemon was in sight, glowing bright and sparks flying from his wounds like frayed wires amidst the dark, wooded atmosphere. "Wait a moment," Truffle would interject, putting a hand on Mint's shoulder to stop them both from barging in. "There is someone in front of him- the one clad in reddish-purple, see?" The worried one would squint into the dark, and yes, there was someone else there. Someone... With a crossbow. Truffle would gently bring Mint behind a nearby tree, hiding him away from possible sight.

Mint would watch cautiously, attempting to get a better view of the one that seemed to be focused on Lemon. They were shorter than most he'd seen, but clearly not one to be messed with if the tattered cloak that covered them were any indication.

"So... You finally fucked up big time." The figure would speak, prominently irritated in tone. The voice was feminine, but held a gravelly undertone. "First Carrot, and now this? I should have shot you down the moment you decided to go after Caramel." There was a growl, the crossbow being tampered with in her hands. Mint almost brought himself out, but Truffle held onto his shoulder. "And where is he now, huh? Did your little prison break go well? I wouldn't say so, considering you're... Well... One of them now." Some mix of a scoff and a dry laugh came from the figure as she raised her crossbow and gestured idly over Lemon's body, as if deciding where to shoot. Lemon's body was visibly trembling. Not from the threat before him, but from the pain.

"I always thought you were a rebel, a dishonorable one at that. I can't believe you couldn't even stick with us hunters just because... Just because of some bitch that can't hold his own." And for once, Lemon would retort back. "You'd- you'd do the same for Carrot, Beet. Or should I call you... A hypocrite?" "Oh, shut your fucking mouth." Beet would take a step forward, aiming her weapon at Lemon's chest. Even if the sparking insect was stuck against the side of the mansion, bloodied and depleted of energy, he still had some sass in him it seemed. "At least I was able to save- to rescue someone that I care for, unlike you." "I said, shut your fucking MOUTH!"

Beet would let a bolt out of their weapon, but... It narrowly missed Lemon's head. Probably a warning shot. Probably. And at that point, Mint gave the impulse decision to run out and stand in front of Lemon- defending him. "L-listen here!" Mint would try to speak with confidence as they spread their arms to further cover Lemon- or more accurately- his wings. Though the tone of 'confident' was lacking naturally- so in a time such as this-? "I'm- I'm not going to let you kill him, who-whoever you are!" "Oooh, so now the one who nearly killed their own assistant is going to lecture me?" Mint's mouth opened, but no sound came out at such a remark. "Yeah, you heard me right. I know who you are. Most hunters do... Except for the one that ran out on us at the drop of a hat." Beet scowled, taking little time to reload her weapon and aim it once more. "I don't have time for either of you. Violin boy, if you step out of the way, I'll make your death painless. If not, then... it won't be. Simple as that." "You-” Mint’s perseverance wavered, but... “I won't let you kill either of us!" There was a pause between the two as Beet looked on inquisitively. She almost seemed mildly entertained, but that didn't stop her from raising her crossbow. "...So be it, bastard."

Three sounds were let out at once: A crossbow firing and clattering to the floor, a yip of pain, and a 'shnk' of an arrow through flesh. Beet would soon be wailing with a shower of swears to accompany it. While she had her moment, holding her arm and quickly finding that there would be more bites to come- Mint had his own ordeal. The upper part of his arm, though in the least pain of the three, had been pierced by Beet's weapon. He gasped and whined, leaning forward as his one arm gripped the other. "Ow ow ow-" He'd hiss out, eyes sealed shut as tears welled at the corners of his eyes. "W-worth it-"

After letting the pain course through him, Mint would wipe away the tears and open his eyes. To his surprise, where Beet previously stood was now a... Large white cocoon. A chill sent itself over the violinist's spine as he didn't wish to think about what could have happened in such a short time. Blink and one will miss it, he guessed. "Are you stable enough to bring yourself inside?" Truffle would gently ask, and Mint barely registered that the question was not for him. He opened his mouth to answer, but thankfully didn't embarrass himself by noticing that Truffle was behind him, helping Lemon to his feet. The poor newly cursed was forced to lean against the elder, who was stronger than she looked. Seems like the answer was no. "Well, you can't eat me anymore... so what the Hell else do I have left to lose?" He'd murmur in irritation. "Your dignity, the ones you care for, your life... There is plenty that you still have, young one." A mirthless laugh came from the elder as she would gingerly carry Lemon away, with the one being carried obviously miffed by the retort. Though Mint wasn't left unacknowledged, as Truffle would give him a motion to follow. He did so, and desperately tried to ignore the large sack of a body that he... Had a feeling wouldn't be alive for much longer, considering it was surprisingly still whilst being carried by spiders.

...At least Lemon was okay, even if there were some- Mint will guiltily admit- avoidable casualties...

[thicctails]

Summer of Whump Day 9 [Bugs/Animals]

Ω

 Hunter coughed, his mind spastically trying to understand his situation. He tasted dirt and blood in his mouth, and he spat the disgusting mix onto the ground. Wiping his mouth, he pushed himself up off the ground, looking around. Smoldering, broken trees surrounded him, bits of still hot wreckage scattered around the clearing.

 What had…

 Their mission! They’d been freeing a captured diplomat, something had gone wrong and the alarm had been tripped, and they’d been escaping on a stolen ship. They’d almost made it, but then they’d been hit by something. He remembered fire, yelling, an alarm blaring in his ear, then… nothing. They must have crashed. But if that was the case, where was everyone else?

 Getting to his feet, Hunter began to call out into the quiet forest.

 “Tech! Echo! Wrecker!” His voice was loud in the still air, but he heard no response.

 Frowning, he began to look around the crash site. There wasn’t much, just burning metal and already burnt plant life. He searched for footprints, but found none. What he did find was far from comforting.

 There was a large gash in the side of the ship, and he could tell it hadn’t been caused by the crash. Puncture marks covered the sides of the gash, like something big had been pressing into the metal. He ran a hand over the indents, trying to figure out what had made them.

 Scrrrrich!

 The sound of something being dragged over wood had him whipping around, just in time to see a rush of black charging towards him.

    Omega stared outside, her feet just centimeters away from the ship’s exit. Her bow sat heavily on her arm, the familiar weight of the weapon bringing her a small semblance of comfort as she thought about what to do. Hunter had been very clear when he had told her to stay inside, but that had been a whole day ago. It was sunrise now, and she had still gotten a response from anyone. Part of her wanted to believe that they were just busy, but they had always checked in on her before…

 “Honk?”

 She looked down, watching as Pillow walked up beside her.

 “Oh Pillow,” She said, reaching down to pick him up, “they still aren’t back yet. I want to go look for them, but I also don’t want to disappoint Hunter.”

 Pillow looked towards the rising sun, and Omega got the feeling that he was thinking about something. He looked back towards her, and jerked his head to the side, as if to say “let’s go find them”.

 “But Hunter said not to.” Omega argued.

 Pillow wiggled free, flopping down onto the ground and skittering away before Omega could grab him. He rushed down the ramp, heading straight for the forest. Mentally apologizing to Hunter, Omega ran down after him.

 “Pillow, wait!”

   Omega carefully picked her way over fallen branches and trampled vines. Pillow marched on ahead of her, his nostrils flaring as he followed some unknown scent. He exuded feelings of determination, caution, and confusion, although she wasn’t sure why. Whatever he smelled, it was making him nervous, and her very glad she had brought her bow.

 Pillow paused, sniffing at something in front of him that she couldn’t quite see. Walking closer, she saw that it was a shape in the dirt. It was V shaped, two little dashes sticking out a couple of centimeters in front of the tips. An animal track, one unlike she’d ever seen or heard of. Hunter had been teaching her how to track, so she knelt down and looked for signs that would tell her how old it was. The track seemed to be fairly fresh, as the sides hadn’t been worn down yet.

 “Do you think we should follow them?” She asked, turning to look at Pillow. The amphibian bobbed his head.

 “Okay, if you say so. I just hope whatever we find isn’t hungry.” Omega muttered.

 If Pillow wanted to keep following the tracks despite them making him nervous, than there must be a good reason. Perhaps whatever had made these tracks had something to do with Hunter and the others not coming back?

 She hoped not, as the tracks had been rather big.

   The tracks led Pillow and Omega to the mouth of a dark cave. The two looked at each other, before Omega gulped and stepped forward, drawing back her bow’s string for light. Pillow pattered after her, his pupils expanding to take in more light. Their steps echoed in the maw-like space, the only source of light being the purple glow of her trusty weapon.

 As the duo made their way deeper into the cave, small luminous mushrooms began to appear. They glowed a soft cyan colour, but Omega did not relinquish her hold on the bow’s thrumming string. The warning buzz was back, muted, but definitely still there. She had to be careful.

 Suddenly, Pillow honked and dashed forward, and Omega quickly followed after. Something caught her foot, causing her to release her bow’s string and fall onto the floor. The weapon slid away from her, becoming lost to the darkness. With only the glowing fungi for light, she looked to see what she had tripped on.

 A scream escaped her lips as her eyes fell on a white, stripped bone. She kicked the bone away, panting as it clattered against the floor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that she was surrounded by skeletons.

 “Honk!”

 She spun, gasping when she saw Pillow nudging something. A familiar something.

 “Hunter!” She yelled, rushing over to the downed man. Hunter’s skin was pale, and he was sweating. He looked like he was asleep, but his face was contorted, like he was in the midst of having a terrible nightmare.

 Tech, Echo, Wrecker, and someone she doesn’t recognize were there as well, all in similar states. She shook them all, trying to rouse them to no avail.

 “Okay, I guess I’m dragging you all out. Pillow, you might have to help me.” She said, grabbing Tech under the arms.

 Sssscccrrrapee!

 Omega froze, the buzzing at the back of her mind becoming a screech. A sudden urge to move to the right had her rolling on the ground. Something shot out of the darkness, smashing into the ground where she had just been. Pillow screeched as a shriek echoes out into the cave, nearly deafening Omega. Her foot brushes something metal, and she grabs it, her fingers curling around the handle of her bow. The energy snaps into existence as she draws the string back, firing off a shot into the dark.

 A silhouette appears, long and skinny. Four eyes shine in the passing light, and she hears the creature let out a long hiss. The animal before her is huge, its frill brushing the cave’s ceiling. Its body is a gradient of colours, black into teal into blue into orange and then finally into red. Spots of black and white pepper its serpentine form, and she catches a glimpse of its arched, pointed tail.

 She follows her instinct and leaps back, hearing her opponents teeth clack together as it bites down on the air in front of her. It eyes her, the glow of the mushrooms just barely giving both her and it enough light to see by. A black, forked tongue slides out of the animal’s mouth, the flickering appendage nearly brushing her nose. She hears a sound like armor scraping against stone, and the creature swings its tail around. The tip is sharp and black, an unknown liquid dripping from it. Omega moves back as far as she’s able to, her heart threatening to explode out of her chest as she hits a wall. The animal is poised to strike, but before it can move another step, a blur of snarling white barrels out of the shadows.

 Pillow bites down on the animal’s leg, just below its knee. It shrieks again, this time in pain. It spasms, its tail whipping about wildly. The creature goes into a fit of panic, thrashing around as it tries to make Pillow release his iron hold. Snapping out of her fear-induced paralysis, Omega fires her bow again, striking the creature in the face. It screams, frothing saliva dripping out of its mouth as it flails. Bones scatter as the animal falls onto its back, it’s legs kicking weakly, before finally ceasing all movement.

 Shocked, Omega carefully shuffles forward. Pillow has let go of the animal’s leg now, and as she can see that the skin around the bite has turned a sick white-ish purple. Her lip curls and disgust, and she feels her stomach flip when she sees that Pillow is currently biting at the animal’s stomach, bits of skin and flesh tearing away as he pulls his neck back.

 “Pillow, what are you doing?” She exclaims, actually having to cover her mouth as a gush of blood squirts out, splashing onto Pillow’s head. The amphibian looks at her, seemingly happy with the current situation he’s in.

 More than a little disturbed, Omega makes her way over to the rest of the Bad Batch. Tech seems to be coming around a bit, whatever had been ailing him seemingly leaving his system. There is a small hole on his neck, and she figures that the animal must have stung him.

 The sound of ripping flesh makes her feel nauseous, and she sits down beside Tech and covers her ears, praying that everyone would wake up soon. She hopes that Pillow doesn’t make a habit out of this…

[k-s-morgan]

Hannigram One-Shot from ‘Ravage’

It just occured to me that I’ve never shared my ‘Ravage’ contribution online! Big thanks to @lovecrimebooks for organizing it and letting me be a part of it.

The story is a short Hannigram AU that takes place in the world of Dante’s hell. My circle was Lust. Hannibal is a literal Devil here; Will is a supernatural being that represents Desire. A story of two deadly forces, obsession, and intricate manipulation.

    Black for Death, Purple for Lust: Colors to Capture the Devil

“To this torment are condemned the carnal damned. Those for whom desire conquered reason.” — Virgil

The flickers of darkness were tightly entwined with splashes of gold, red, and white. All dominant colors seeking to represent every being that had chosen to participate in this mockery of a meeting.

The Ball of Highest Powers was an event that Hannibal had always found appallingly primitive. And yet, being the Master, the Devil, he was forced to attend each one. To watch the emergence and the disappearance of his old and new acquaintances. To reinforce his inevitable presence. 

To instill fear. Because he was no longer a Lucifer, God’s fallen angel, trapped for all eternity. He was a Hannibal, the name he had chosen himself, a rightful owner of Hell; the Devil reborn, reclaiming his agency.

Recently, God began to avoid Earth more and more, and Hannibal was only too happy to take control over it.

They knew it — these beings proudly calling themselves the Highest Powers. They knew that if they displeased him, they would be gone. Anteros, or Anthony as he preferred to call himself these days, his oldest source of annoyance, the only surviving representation of Love. Margot, a recently emerged Goddess of Grace. Mason, his supposed ally, reflecting Perversion. And many, many more.

Not everyone attended the Ball, but it was the only opportunity to become aware of how many of them continued their existence, what new reflections had come to life.   

“Will you be putting a crown on anyone today?” Anthony asked him, holding a glass of crystal liquid and watching the masses swirling in a dance. Hannibal measured him with a disinterested gaze. 

As one of the most ancient beings, Anthony was the only one who dared to engage him at least in some way, despite knowing the extent of Hannibal’s contempt to him and to what he represented.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Hannibal replied mildly. The crowns. The tradition that all of them followed faithfully. Every color had its own meaning. Anthony tended to put a red crown on one of these poor souls every year, expressing his fleeting affection. 

The only crowns Hannibal used were black ones, symbolizing instant elimination and oblivion. He had the power to destroy those who no longer amused him, which made Anthony’s boldness all the more surprising. 

“Don’t look at me,” Anthony said half-jokingly, and Hannibal’s lips twitched in distaste. 

Before he could answer, though, a strange hush fell over the hall. More and more beings went silent, staring somewhere, and involuntarily, Hannibal felt a weak pang of curiosity. 

Some creature emerged from the crowd, moving at a leisurely pace, staring at him. 

Moving to him. Or perhaps to Anthony, which was far more likely?  

But no. The blue eyes were fixed on him, and Hannibal blinked incredulously. His bewilderment changed into disbelief and then stupor when he finally noticed what this newcomer was holding. 

A crown. A purple crown. 

A crown of lust. 

Lust. Everyone knew Hannibal’s feelings toward it, the dark satisfaction he received in keeping lovers apart, separated by vast, rocky chasm in their special circle of Hell.

There was no misstep that Hannibal despised more. Other sins were delicious, deserving the most exquisite torment, poisoning even the most strong-willed people. Lust, though, this bleak, faded semblance of emotion was shared only by crippled weaklings. Hannibal readily engaged in other sins, but not in lust — never in lust. 

And this new… creature was carrying a purple crown? Heading toward him? He was. One step closer to him, then another. Then he broke into his personal space, and Hannibal remained frozen, paralyzed by a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

He had never seen this creature before. 

He would remember him. 

Blue eyes were studying him intently, framed by dark lashes. Pale face, chocolate curls, pink mouth. A classical beauty.

The being smiled at him and Hannibal’s lips parted. His breath caught in his chest, his hands grew horrifyingly clammy, and he distinctly felt his pupils getting wide, his eyes glazing over.

The scent hit him then — strange, enticing. The scent of innocence and death. Hannibal shuddered, inhaling it deeply, his nostrils flaring in attempt to get more of it. 

And then the smiling creature reached forward and put the purple crown on his head, and he still did nothing. The silence stretched, both of them staring at one another, Hannibal’s fingers twitching, aching to touch, to feel. 

The strange creature tilted his head, watching him, let out a thoughtful sound, and then turned his back to him and disappeared within the crowd.

The silence was deafening, and Hannibal was still rooted to his spot, unable to move, utterly confused by what had happened and by the fact that he was now wearing a purple crown, with no instinct to take it off. 

Conversations resumed eventually, and Anthony, who was still standing nearby, chuckled. 

“Well, that was unexpected,” he said, amused. “Did you honestly like Will, or are you already plotting his demise?”

“Will?” Hannibal echoed. 

“Will. Desire,” Anthony’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You didn’t recognize him? He’s not exactly new. It’s just that he has never visited the Ball before. Few of us know him personally, but I thought that you, for sure—”

Hannibal stopped listening. Because while the name Will was new, he was indeed aware of Desire. The cunning, ubiquitous being that found entrance everywhere, slipping equally into the most romantic souls, enhancing their desire for affection, and into the violent ones, feeding their desire for war and destruction.

And now he seemed to slip into the Hell itself. Into Hannibal’s domain, into his very mind. Leaving him humiliated, with that purple embarrassment on his head. 

Suddenly infuriated, Hannibal tore the crown from himself and clenched it in his hand, wishing only to crush it. 

Foolish Will — to challenge the Devil himself. 

Hannibal would put an end to it, and to him.

***

The cold darkness of Hell was soothing. The shadows were whispering to him, the souls were moaning, begging, but for some reason, it brought no pleasure to him.

Restless, Hannibal moved along the line of entrapped lovers within his circle of Lust, staring into their glassy faces, the longing and thirst reflected there as they kept looking over the chasm, trying to get a glimpse of their partners. He wasn’t some weak-minded creature like them. And he certainly didn’t experience lust. Such thing was beneath him.

But the image of blue eyes and lips curled up in a smile kept haunting him, his mind greedily recalling every bit, savoring it, filling his body with strange, buzzing sensation.   

A purple lighting storm swirled around the chasm — the soul of Alana rising to see what was happening. 

Alana was one of his human lovers, one Hannibal had seduced out of amusement, one he had been driving mad with lust until she killed a man in attempt to protect him, falsely thinking that Hannibal was about to be attacked. She had died in that confrontation as well, and since there was no lover Hannibal could position her against in the circle of Lust, he had chosen to turn her into a lighting storm here, trapped between two sides of the chasm. 

Hannibal paid her no mind, but Alana whispered something, trembled, and suddenly, an image of Will appeared, huge and stretched through the entire chasm — shocking and ethereally beautiful.

Hannibal stared, a sharp rebuke freezing on his lips. 

Will, Desire, was moving slowly through some forest, his eyes focused and curious, alight with intelligence and intensity that Hannibal found breathtaking. He made a strange movement, his eyebrows rising, and then he smiled, and Hannibal was lost. 

Before he could stop himself, he materialized in a flash of smoke in the same forest, in the same place, several inches from Will.

Will stopped and strengthened slowly. Then he said without turning, “Now *this* is not the moment when I expected to encounter you.” 

“I am faintly disturbed that you expected to encounter me at all,” Hannibal replied, watching his back, his eyes narrowed. 

Finally, Will turned, and Hannibal’s breath hitched uncontrollably. His mind swam, his limbs went shaky. Desire crashed into him, enveloped every part of him, and he nearly snarled in frustration.

“Stop this,” he hissed, and Will blinked.

“Stop what?” he asked, as if genuinely confused. Clarifying would require more than he was ready to sacrifice, so Hannibal gritted his teeth and said nothing. Will tilted his head, an amused look crossing his features. 

“Did you come here for me or are you interested in artful death as much as I am?”

“Artful death,” Hannibal echoed. Now, for the first time, he sensed a familiar smell of approaching decay, and he glanced at the ground, at an arched wrist that was protruding from it. 

“Someone is killing people and burying them alive to feed the mushrooms,” Will said, also watching the ground. Hannibal would be taken aback — humanity still had the power to surprise him with the things they did, crazy as they were, but currently, he was much more interested in other matters. Specifically, in one standing before him.

“Do you get the souls quicker when they are buried alive?” Will asked, and Hannibal considered his question, surprised at the novelty of it. 

“Yes,” he said eventually. “But the difference is slight, barely worth mentioning. Why are you here? Do you entertain yourself by helping those who can be saved?” 

“No,” a frown marred Will’s forehead but somehow, it made him even more beautiful, and all thoughts left Hannibal’s head once again. “I told you. I’m not interested in life — only death captivates me. Well… now, at least.”

“This person is not dead yet.”

“But he will be,” Will shrugged. “I existed long enough to understand the beauty of it. Death is comforting. Pity not all of us have the privilege of experiencing it.”

“You will,” Hannibal told him, trying to sound calm, to hide the breathless notes in his voice. “If you keep provoking me.”

Some dark shadow flickered across Will’s face before it smoothed out, an amusing glint returning to his eyes. 

“How am I provoking you?” he wondered. 

“The only way you know how… Will. Or do you prefer to be called Desire?”

“Not in the least,” Will told him. “And I cannot deliberately affect you, no matter how hard I would try. I affect people only, slipping into their minds, evoking and enhancing their desires — for various things. Desire for love. Desire for destruction. Desire for revenge. What do you desire, Hannibal? To the extent where you would hope to blame it on me?”

Confusion and rage and something else, something heavier and much more intoxicating, swirled within him, and Hannibal crossed the distance between them in several short steps, crushing their mouths together, clenching Will’s hair in his fist and pulling at it violently. 

Will let out a surprised sound — as if he had the right to be surprised after everything he had done, after his purple crown at that ball. Then his mouth opened wider, accepting him, and Hannibal kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him, breathing faster and faster, until he felt dizzy, until the air he didn’t even need started to be lacking, until his consciousness darkened and faded. He craved him. He needed him, desperately. 

Everything happened in a mist — him tearing Will’s clothes off, pushing him against the tree, taking his fill of him, Will’s soft moans breaking the silence, his compliance sweet and maddening. However, it all changed quite suddenly. Hannibal paused, regaining his strength, ready to take him again, but Will turned quickly and before he could say anything, he found himself pushed against the tree in return, Will’s nails piercing his skin to hold him in place, painful and sharp. 

It was madness — everything that was happening. Hannibal didn’t understand it, couldn’t understand what was running through his veins, so hot and powerful, so intoxicating that he felt drunk on it. On Will. Later, when they both fell in a boneless heap right onto the ground, in the middle of the graveyard of those still living, Hannibal continued to touch him, to breathe in his smell, to stare at him in greed and never-ending confusion. He wanted him. He wanted him still. 

Will reached out, his nails and the tips of his fingers red with Hannibal’s blood, and drew something on his arm — a small stag. 

“To remember me until you want to forget me,” he said. Hannibal stroked his neck, thoughtfully, almost kindly. 

“I am going to kill you,” he said, and Will nuzzled into his shoulder, a blissful smile touching his lips.

“I’m counting on it,” he murmured. “After all, this is why I have given you that purple crown. I expected to get a black one in return.”

Hannibal pulled away sharply, surprised and wishing to hide it. 

Who could want a black crown? Highest Powers feared death more than humans. The idea of not existing terrified them, shrank their vanity and drowned their feeling of superiority. 

Hannibal was the only one who had nothing to fear in this regard, and yet for some reason, Will’s dark words made him uneasy. He’d seen suicidal humans, held their souls, but those of the Highest Powers?

He couldn’t bear the burn of this confusion any longer. In an instant, Hannibal melted in smoke, with his last glimpse being Will, watching him with all-knowing, mysterious eyes. 

He found himself back in his least favorite circle, under rebuking and hating stares of those trapped here for the very sin he was now wearing as a coat around himself. 

Lust. Was that what it felt like? Why now, when Hannibal had given up hope on understanding and relating to it? He knew how to use lust, how to evoke it, but he had never been its target before. It was humbling — and infuriating. But still, not as bewildering as Will’s desire for a black crown.

The next days passed in brooding. Hannibal knew every corner of his domain, had his most and least favorite places, yet now, he felt restless wherever he went. The urge to see Will again, to have him, to listen to the troubling things he said was growing within him like a living being, coiling and hissing as he refused to succumb to it. 

The stag drawn with blood was still sitting on his shoulder, with Hannibal wanting to erase it but finding himself unable to. 

Maybe later. 

When his resolve finally broke and he sought Will out, he was once again sent into stupor. 

Will was in Lithuania. Near a painfully familiar grave. And he was busy arranging the bodies of some men around it.

Absolutely confounded, Hannibal found himself reaching for him, materializing just a step away, unable to believe his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered. “How do you know about this place? About her? No one does. No one was ever supposed to know.”

“Know that you have a weakness?” Will adjusted his hair, which seemed longer today, looking at Hannibal from under his lashes. The already familiar shock of desire ran through him but Hannibal was too stunned to act on it. 

Something else was stopping him, too.

Despite his flirting gestures, Will looked sad. Full of that strange, ancient sadness that was all too familiar to Hannibal, but which he had never seen on anyone else before. 

“How do you know?” Hannibal asked again, and this time, Will smiled mirthlessly. He touched the bodies he had arranged almost lovingly, moving them a little, so a grave would be directly in the center. 

“This is where the only source of light in your life has died,” he said quietly. “This is where Mischa was buried. This is where I was born.” 

When Hannibal just stared at him blankly, Will sighed. 

“You have existed for the amount of time that no other being can comprehend,” he murmured. “I shudder when I try to imagine it. Endlessness. Emptiness. Boredom. But four centuries ago, something happened. Something changed. You were playing human again, as you do whenever boredom strikes you, and you got attached to a little girl. By accident, I’m sure, because you would never willingly let yourself feel. Perhaps the whole experience was amusing to you at first, but then you started to actually feel something. Everyone would think that a human girl protected by the Devil would be coddled to death, as safe as she could possibly be. But you got distracted — another unruly soul that had to be handled, another instance of unrest. You were gone and during this time, she was murdered — and whatever light that had started to grow within you was extinguished. You found her body here and decided to bury her in this same place… and you summoned me.” 

Hannibal’s lips refused to obey. He licked them, strangely nervous, staring at Will and having no idea what to feel. 

“Summoned you?” he clarified carefully.  

“Yes,” Will looked away, glancing at Mischa’s grave again. “All Highest Beings appear to reflect emotions of large clusters of people. Some of them die by your hand and new, synonymous ones appear in their stead. They are all proud to represent the Highest Powers but they forget that they were created by humans. When similar emotions are experienced by a big number of people at once, a representative of this emotion is born — and this process is endless. In my case, though… my creator is you.”

“This is a lie,” Hannibal snapped. “I destroy. I do not create.”

Will’s lips curled in something too frightening to be called a smile. 

“Maybe,” he said. “Therefore, I am your mistake. Your single lapse of judgment. After you found Mischa’s body, you held her. And you willed the time to reverse. You willed it to return you to the past, so you could save her. You willed it to return you to the moment of your first encounter, so you could never approach her again. Of course, your wishes weren’t granted. They never are, not even when the Devil himself is asking for it. Instead, I was born here. Yet another variation of Desire… only this time, your desire. Summoned by the strength of your pleas.”  

“You are lying. I have never even seen you before that last ball!” Hannibal snarled, but the chill in his bones told him everything he needed to know. Will wasn’t lying. Will had witnessed his embarrassing descend into the most human emotions. Will had seen what Hannibal had spent centuries on trying to forget.  

“You deny my very existence,” Will tilted his head, and despite vehement words, he didn’t sound angry. There was just that same sadness in his voice, one that he carried around himself at all times, which was wrapped around him like a cloud. “I am used to it by now. Since the moment of my appearance in this graveyard, with you burying Mischa, I saw only you. But you never even glanced at me. Not once. At first, I thought I was too weak to materialize properly. That is how I tried to explain your blindness. I tried to approach you many times after that — years after years. For centuries. But no matter how hard I tried, you never saw me. And it was killing me as the connection I feel to you is overwhelming ��� it reduces me to a ball of clingy, desperate emotions, all of which you despise.”

Hannibal stepped away before he could stop himself, disturbed by the genuineness and warmth he could feel emanating from Will.

He didn’t know if he liked it. He had never felt… this, directed at him. Will noticed his instinctive retreat, but instead of acting hurt, he dared to laugh.  

“I live for you,” he said easily, and Hannibal stared at him, unable to comprehend how anyone could be so open, how anyone could say this to him.

Despite sugary words, Will didn’t act as if he was swooning in his presence. He hadn’t acted like that in the forest as well — he positioned himself as his equal. He had more grace than the majority of Highest Beings. 

It was impossible to understand him.

“I’ve spent all my life in the hope that you will finally see me, learning everything I could about you, becoming your shadow,” Will continued. “Others don’t touch me — it is you whom I crave, whose attention I seek, whose company I desire. But recently… I realized that I could no longer pretend. I was a mistake that you’ve made once — that’s all there is to it. Knowing that my goal was futile, I chose against continuing my existence. At that ball, for the first time, I approached you not with love and desire, but with death and lust. And you saw me. After all this time. Because even though you loved that little girl, even though your love and your desire to change the past created me, these are not the feelings that you can recognize. Mischa was an anomaly. What you do recognize is death, which you sow, and lust, the circle of which you control. Lust is the closest you can feel to affection… I think. So this was the only time when you could see me.”

“I can see you now,” words escaped by themselves, before Hannibal could stop them. A flash of surprise crossed Will’s face before he chuckled.

“Of course you can,” he said almost gently. “Because I still intend to die. You can feel it on me. And that is why I hope that you will gift me with oblivion. You are the only one who can do that — not to mention that it will be as overly dramatic as you like. Symbolic. Dying from the hand of someone who made me.” 

Hannibal’s thoughts were uncharacteristically jumbled. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, confused, at a loss, bewildered. Will was confounding. When he looked at him, even now, Hannibal could feel the dryness of his own mouth, the fevered hotness of his skin — lust, thick and powerful, mindlessly pushing him forward, his fingers trembling with the urge to touch, to caress, to bruise. Even this alarming revelation hadn’t changed it — he still wanted Will.

But he was also scared of him. Another new feeling, the flavor of which Hannibal tasted with interest, wondering if this was what others felt in his presence.

There was something else that bothered him, so, licking his dry lips, Hannibal asked, “You said you approached me with death and lust. Does it mean that your previous feelings no longer exist?”

“Nothing and no one can change them,” Will replied, still serene, still smiling. “You’ve made me. I will be always attracted to you — even I can’t fight it. But I am not a mindless bundle of desire. Before, having you see me, talk to me, was a dream. My most cherished fantasy. Once I decided to disappear, death became my biggest wish. When I managed to subdue my brighter feelings for you and pushed death and something as primal as lust to the front, you saw me — but even then, you refused to give me what I want. I didn’t get my black crown. Even after the forest, you still haven’t granted my wish. I don’t understand why — you have executed others for much, much less. Coming to Mischa was my last idea. Everything started here — it would be prudent if everything came to an end in this same place. Don’t you agree?”

Hannibal touched him, then, tracing the contour of his face, moving to his lips. Will closed his eyes, shuddering, tilting his head in such a sensual way that for a second, Hannibal’s vision went black with absurd, maddening desire. 

“Wasting centuries over me,” he whispered. “How foolish.”

Will opened his eyes, frowning, but when he wanted to move away, Hannibal tightened his grip on him.

“I will grant your wish,” he promised. “But not now.” 

Will looked at him expressionlessly. Hannibal was the one to step away, and his eyes lingered on Will for quite a while before he dissipated in the darkness.

He spent the next days lost in thoughts. He would kill Will — that was undeniable. He couldn’t tolerate the existence of someone who knew him from such a side, someone who dared to feel emotions to him that Hannibal despised. 

But something was stopping him, making him delay that inevitable moment. There was something irresistible in realization that he was the one to create Will, that he had his very own Highest Being — unique, not like the others. Beautiful and tragic and deadly. Will had quite a list of souls he had been playing with. He wasn’t simply seducing people’s minds — he was driving them insane, whispering and poisoning them once they were sleeping, making them want things they would never dare to want. Hannibal checked, and in all his time, he had never seen such a vicious and cunning version of Desire. 

Secretly, he wondered if Desire was even the right name for Will. Considering how tightly it was interconnected with lust, it formed a deadly combination that affected even him. 

Because he wanted him. Was aching for him. His madness was intensifying, urging him to locate Will and to have him again, whether he wanted it or not. Hannibal prepared a black crown — stunning and regal, fitting for his creation, but he still struggled with making a decision. He continued to think. To wonder. His thoughts came to a halt when he suddenly felt a strange, vague whisper of alarm. Hannibal narrowed his eyes, listening attentively, frowning when the stag Will had drawn on him, one that Hannibal couldn’t force himself to remove, heated abruptly, as if coming to life. 

‘At this point, nothing would actually surprise me,’ Hannibal thought, but before he could look at the picture on his arm, another pang of alarm pierced him — this one much stronger. Hannibal tensed for a second, and his lips curled in a snarl when he realized that someone had entered Hell — someone who had no place here. 

His kingdom was being… invaded? Who could possibly be as foolish as to…

The wall glimmered under his glare, its shape softening to a well of images. Hannibal quickly found the circle where the intruder was — Lust, and he wanted to scoff — but stopped as he saw the whole picture. 

That same rocky chasm. And Will, standing on its edge, with his back to it, looking directly at Hannibal — as if he knew where he was, as if he knew where to look. His lips began to move and Hannibal stared at them, reading the words they formed.

‘Thank you for not removing the stag. I wasn’t sure you would keep it. My entrance to Hell… the last piece of my plan. It’s true, only you have the power to kill the Highest Beings, but the place where you reign has the same ability. I know you well — too well, perhaps. Such a curious creature like you wouldn’t be able to make a decision, torn between wanting to keep me and wanting to destroy me — wanting to toy with me. So, I will make that choice for you. Good-bye… Hannibal.’

Hannibal’s eyes widened when he saw Will take that last, small step — and disappear within the chasm.    

“No!” he cried before he could stop himself, suddenly, unexpectedly terrified. He wasn’t thinking as he threw himself into the pile of smoke, disappearing and reappearing in the middle of the chasm, thinking in forgotten, suffocating despair, ‘It’s not too late, it can’t be too late, it can’t…’   

It seemed like even in his unexplainable panic, he had managed to calculate the distance correctly — a second later Will landed right into his waiting arms, looking calm, as if he hadn’t been one step from death.  

Hannibal clutched him with awful, bewildering tenderness, burying his face in his dark, curly hair, inhaling its scent deeply. 

“You are mine,” he murmured, not fully understand his own words. “I created you, so you belong to me.” 

He was drowning in this — this confusing affection, these warmth and greediness and possessiveness he had never felt before, didn’t know what to do with. 

Now that he was seeing Will, he wasn’t sure he could stop. 

Mindlessly, he kissed Will’s temple, then his face, his neck, still holding him, trembling with desire to tear into him, to leave him a shaking, bleeding mess — and then to tend to his wounds, to lick them clean and start everything over again. 

One who had witnessed his emotional downfall. One who existed solely for him. Who wasn’t scared of him. One who… understood him?

“You are mine,” he said again, leaned back and froze, seeing a victorious, malicious smile on Will’s face. However, it disappeared quickly, and Hannibal was back to cradling him, feeling strangely, unexplainably complete. 

The violet lighting storm swirled around them — Alana making her presence known, but Hannibal didn’t pay her any mind. His eyes were glued to one specific being in his arms, one that he didn’t intend to let go, even if he had no idea what to do with him.

Hannibal kissed him again, following a foreign, heated impulse. As he continued to shower Will’s flawless skin with kisses, he heard a soft whisper, “What about my crown, Hannibal?” 

“You cannot rule Hell with me. Why would I give you a crown? Even I don’t wear one,” Hannibal retorted, too distracted to look up.

He heard a satisfied chuckle, and then the violet storm ensnared them both, carrying them back to the surface.   

“Mine,” Will said, his voice frightening in its triumphant deadliness. Hannibal didn’t understand what he meant, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

He would think about it later, when this haze was over.

If it would ever be over.